#he in his own fucked up way he provided a safe space for these other marginalised communities

[d1xonss]

Hi there! I was wondering if i could get some straight Daryl Dixon smut where fem!reader is asking him to choke her for the first time? If not it’s totally okay! love your writing! <3

Something New

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 2

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : ⚠️ Smut (18+)

✧ Word Count : 1.6k

AN ~ Oooh I don’t think I’ve ever done any kind of smut like this before, but I’m happy to try! And let’s preface this first before anything else; no I don’t think Daryl would realistically feel comfortable choking someone. He strikes me as the type of man that doesn’t want to harm you in any way during something so intimate, even if you asked for it. However, I think early seasons Daryl would definitely be a little rougher during sex which is why I planned for the season 2 era. But the moral of the story is this is just for fun, and I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

Hope you enjoy! xoxox

It had been a rough couple of days. Between getting stranded on the highway, losing Sophia, and Carl getting shot, it was safe to say that the group had seen better days. The recent events had taken a toll on all of you, the stress beginning to build up to the point of no return. And it was no surprise to you seeing Daryl was the one who was taking it the hardest. 

He was constantly tense and rigid, a permanent scowl on his face while nothing seemed to be going the way it was supposed to. Though luckily for him, you knew just the way to relieve some of that…tension.

Your gasps and moans could be heard by no one near as Daryl had taken it upon himself to move your shared tent far away from the others to get some distance. At first you were weary of the idea, but now you thought it just might’ve been the best one he’s ever had. Considering the filthy sounds he was pulling from you, it would be mortifying to face the others the following morning.

The small tent was pitch black, the only thing you were able to see were the soft outlines of the different shapes around you, along with feeling Daryl’s hot pants on the back of your neck as he continuously pounded into you. The sound of your wetness with every thrust filled the small space, almost suffocating as the sleeping bag beneath you was providing little to no comfort from the harsh ground beneath you. But with your legs tangled together and the feel of his dick hitting your hilt over and over again, the feel of tiny rocks below was far from your mind.

“Oh, fuck.” you whimpered, desperately grabbing and gripping at his arms that were wrapped around you as his pace was rough and determined. Your pussy was throbbing, the feel of his hips slapping against your ass was growing more urgent as you felt your wetness begin to run down your leg.

He grunted from behind you, feeling your walls clench around him, “That’s right, fuckin take it.” he growled into your ear, the next thing you felt were his teeth teasingly biting the shell.

You threw your head back in ecstasy, your toes curling all while trying to patch his pace with your own movements. But let’s face it, you were growing tired. And he had more stamina than the two of you combined. He could’ve kept this up all night if he wanted to just to torture you a bit more than he already was, having slowed down multiple times right when he felt you were about to come.

His large, rough hands then moved from your hips up to your breasts, giving them a generous squeeze before teasing your nipples just enough to get you to squirm even more. Gently pinching and pulling them to hear more of those delicious sounds. You cried out almost in agony with how much he was teasing you, the feeling both pleasurable and miserable. But Daryl couldn’t lie, he loved it. Hearing you like this, so aching and hungry for him drove him absolutely crazy.

Your bodies were sheen in a thin layer of sweat, the desire and lust growing even thicker with every plunge of his hips or bites at your skin. You wanted to feel him everywhere. Which is why your hand impulsively reached for his, tugging it toward your throat in a sex drunk kind of state. Though Daryl however quickly snapped out of it when his mind processed your actions, his movements stopping completely which only caused you to whine a bit in protest as you thought he only did it to tease you again. But what you couldn’t see was his expression was quite serious. Never in a million years had he even considered what you had silently asked him to do.

“What the hell are ya doin?” he asked, his tone rough with desire yet still somehow soft when it came to speaking to you.

His words brought you out of your daze, your eyes widening a little at what you had unconsciously done in a fit of impatience and longing. You had never outright admitted that you had a kind of kink, a fantasy perhaps of him wrapping his strong hands around your throat. But now that your secret was basically exposed, you felt extremely embarrassed, silently thankful that the tent was dark enough to where you couldn’t see his face. Although you could sense the tension resurfacing, the tension you so desperately tried to take away from him, was suddenly back within an instant.

“Sorry…” you huffed quietly as you tried to catch your breath, “Heat of the moment.”

Daryl was silent for what seemed like ages, leaving you thinking you had ruined the entire moment as you didn’t have a clue at what was going on in his head. But surprisingly enough, it wasn't what you had anticipated.

The idea of choking, spanking, or any kind of harmful thing really had never before crossed his mind despite how rough he could be at times. He never wished to intentionally hurt you, especially after the trust you had built up over the weeks of knowing one another. You were important to him, even though he had never been brave enough to admit that out loud, you were still quite literally the only person that mattered to him now. But seeing as clearly you weren’t opposed to the idea of exploring something new, he figured...maybe he could get behind it. 

His face leaned down toward your ear again from behind, “You tell me if it’s too much…ya hear me?” he said almost sternly to show you how serious he was about this.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, opening your mouth to question him, but you didn’t get the chance before his hand came up to gently squeeze at your neck. Your eyes widened, a surprised whimper escaping your lungs while his hips slowly began to buck up into you again, picking up right where he had left off.

The tightness he held around your throat immediately sent you back to that blissful haze, feeling your limbs begin to tingle as he continued to send shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. You moaned loudly when he squeezed a bit tighter, testing the waters with how much you could take. But it didn’t hurt at all surprisingly, like he somehow knew exactly what he was doing though he had never tried this before in his life. It was almost concerningly perfect, and you were in heaven.

“God, you sound so pretty.” he breathed, his pace increasing as he began to manhandle you, “You really like this, don’t you?” he asked almost teasingly.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to hear the tone of his voice, only managing to focus on how good it felt as you nodded your head frantically. Silently begging him to let you finish this time.

He choked you a bit harder when you didn’t respond, “Come on girl…tell me how good it feels.” he groaned.

You panted heavily while simultaneously swallowing to try and lubricate your dry throat, “Feels good- feels so good.” you stuttered pathetically.

Daryl hummed in approval as he heard your response, leaning his head down to kiss and lick at the skin of your shoulder while his free hand moved down to rub circles on your clit. A sharp gasp was pulled from you as you arched your back into him, your vision growing almost spotty at the amount of sensations he was giving you. Your legs began to twitch and he could feel your walls clenching around him even more intensely as you neared your orgasm again. But instead of slowing down, he finally continued to draw it out.

Your moans and whines grew louder and louder as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, his hand over your throat only making your brain feel more fuzzy. You almost couldn’t control the sounds you were making anymore as you finally came, crying out his name in the state of bliss you had craved so much. It was like for a moment you saw stars, feeling as if your soul left your body for a moment as his fingers continued to work on your sensitive clit. The feeling of your tight walls consuming him left him not far behind as he quickly managed to pull out of you, before spilling himself onto your back with a low groan of pleasure.

It took minutes for the two of you to finally come down from your high, catching your ragged breaths while your bodies felt almost too limp to even attempt to move. But eventually, his hand retracted back from your neck as he slowly sat up a bit, leaving a tender kiss on the back of your head to express what he couldn’t with words.

“We…we need to do that again.” you breathed quietly, slumping onto your back from exhaustion.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your silent request, shaking his head though you couldn’t see, “Let’s wait a few hours at least…don’t wanna kill ya.” he said lightheartedly.

You huffed softly, “I think you already did. I feel like I can’t move my legs.”

His eyes glanced down, his hand coming up to run along your hip before traveling down your thigh, “How bout a massage then, hm?”

It’s funny, you thought. One minute he was saying the dirtiest things, fucking you until you forgot your own name. And then the next, he was sweetly suggesting a massage after his own doings. But then again, you would never complain. Perhaps after this, he would be more keen to trying new things…

~ Thanks for reading!

[satellitesunset]

perpetually thinking about suguru geto.

[nepenthendline]

the not-so-good parts about dating them

a/n: I am nothing if not a red flag lover

includes: midoriya, todokori, bakugo, shinsou, kirishima, kaminari, iida, hawks, aizawa

Midoriya -

Midoriya's priority list is '1. everyone' so, sometimes, it's difficult to feel special in his eyes. It's not that he doesn't see you as a top priority, he just often lets himself get caught up with other people and dealing with their problems so you don't get his undivided attention all that often. He doesn't mean to do it at all, but he has missed dates before because he was staying late at work to help his students or got stuck helping out a friend.

Bakugo -

🤨 Aside from his obvious anger issues, Bakugo often struggles to see you as a team and not just individuals. Whenever you argue, he often sees it as a 'me vs you' and not a 'us vs the problem', and he sometimes makes big decisions without talking to you first. He feels like he has to be better than you because he needs to be a provider and a protector, so he tackles issues on his own instead of talking to you and working things through as a team.

Todoroki -

Todokori has no reference to what a 'healthy' relationship looks like, and it terrifies him. All he knows is what, or who, he doesn't want to end up like, and it stops him from taking initiative in your relationship because he's scared of doing the wrong thing. He knows he's not like his father, but he still worries that he's going to end up like him anyway, as if it's fated. Because of this, things move incredibly slowly, and it can be hard to tell that he does love you since he doesn't often make moves or use words to show you. He knows he wants, and needs, to improve though, he just needs some guidance.

Kaminari -

Kaminari struggles with self-sabotage in your relationship - he convinces himself that he's not good enough for you or that he's making your life worse by being with you, and can push you away, cancel dates late minute or act like he doesn't need you. These actions never last long before he snaps out of it, and you're well aware by now of what's going on in his head when he starts acting like this, but he's always convinced he's going to fuck this up. And sometimes, he believes it so much that he does. The guilt eats away at him daily.

Kirishima -

(Absolutely nothing) Kirishima hates showing you when he's feeling down, weak, or 'unmanly'. He bottles up a lot of his negative emotions and thoughts away from you and they gnaw away at him. Its not that he feels like he can't talk to you, in fact sometimes he lets things slip because he feels so comfortable around you, but quickly tries to put a positive spin on his words so that you don't worry. It's more that he feels he shouldn't, and that you have enough things to deal with as it is. He wants to be a safe space for you, so dealing with his emotions is out of the question. He never blows up at you because things get too far though, you just wish he could rely on you more.

Iida -

For the first while in your relationship, it almost felt like you lost your friendship with Iida. The lines between being friends and being a partner were extremely defined to Iida for some time, and he felt that every interaction between the two of you had to be so formally-relationshipy - this meant things such as only spending time with you on pre-scheduled dates, affection felt like ticking boxes on what was 'meant' to come next in a relationship, or not letting you see his deeper, darker times. Things do get better after some time and conversations, but it kinda felt like the first year of your relationship didn't really count.

Shinsou -

Shinsou feels like being with you is the most selfish act someone has ever committed. Sometimes he even thinks that, somehow in a way he doesn't know, he's forcing you to be with him. He feels like you can do so much better than him, but he loves you too much to let you go (not that you would anyway). He thinks that he doesnt treat you as well as you deserve and so he goes overboard to 'make things up to you', when in reality he's the most caring, selfless person you've met. He often brings up the idea of you finding someone else, or that you can cheat on him and he'll stay if that makes you happy, and it breaks your heart every time.

Aizawa -

Aizawa feels like everyone he truly lets in, he has lost, and he is terrified that's going to happen to you. So, he tries to keep his feelings and thoughts for you as surface-level as possible. The problem is that he's terrible at doing that - he has such a big heart and he wants you in every way imaginable, which creates a lot of inner conflict for him. One minute he's telling you everything weighing on his mind and letting himself fall deeper into you, and the next he's keeping you at arms length. He's scared to admit that he relies on you or that he needs you, but he does it anyway and it tears him apart inside.

Hawks -

He lies to you more times that he would like to admit. Well, it's more that he's very good about skirting around a question or situation rather than telling you the truth. There's some things in his life, his past, or his thoughts that he feels are best not being part of your life, and so he will tell you little lies and make adjustments to the truth to fit a narrative that he prefers. He wants to protect you from any negativity or darkness that he can - he knows what going through that feels like and he does not want you to have to feel that too, but mostly, and most selfishly, he's terrified of you thinking he's a bad person because of some actions he's had to take. It can be almost impossible to tell when he's lying or telling the truth because he's extremely open and upfront with other topics.

[bunnyreaper]

john price is nothing without his girl.

(18+/mdni, f!reader, daddy kink (but no ageplay), dom/sub, legal age gap)

john never realised just what being a daddy could mean until he met you. he'd hesitated so much about starting a relationship with someone so much younger, but your sparkling doe eyes, darling personality, and schoolgirl-like crush on him were too much to resist.

you were mature beyond your years, having adapted to a world that wasn't so kind, and you could easily hold your own in any part of life--but you didn't really want to, and you were sick of pretending. john didn't want you to, john could provide the solace you needed--a space for both of you to be your true selves.

he's always been a caring, kind, and protective lover, but you send all his instincts into overdrive--especially since you never resist them. despite everything you are, you blush when he opens doors for you, carries something heavy for you, always says 'ladies first'. every time he treats you like you're something delicate, you let yourself be cradled in his safe hands, and that feeling of being responsible for you in every way is just so fucking addictive to him. once he's had a taste of being your guiding light, he just can't let it go.

he's your big, strong protector too, always there to watch over you--an ever present hand on the back of your neck as you walk around town, or his sudden appearance if someone is making you uncomfortable. god fucking forbid anyone tries to come to close to you.

he easily picks you up and cradles you whenever you crave his cuddles, or he's carrying you to the bedroom to have his way with you. you've never felt as safe as you do in his arms, and he encourages your addiction to his touch--whether it's just his soothing strokes through your hair or the feeling of his cock making its home inside you.

everything he does is in service of you, just as everything you do honours him. he treasures the gift of your submission, and knows the way he earns such a privilege is by fulfilling your every need, as you always do the same for him. you compliment each other so naturally, he leads, you follow. he commands and you obey, because you know in your soul he only ever has your best interests at heart.

but at his core, he would do anything for you. this man is not afraid to fall to his knees to help you put on your shoes, would shield you from the rain if it meant keeping you dry, get his knuckles bloody and bruised if it meant keeping yours so delicate and clean.

it's strange how he can feel such an affinity to a name that isn't really his, and yet when daddy leaves your lips, it calls out to him like anything else. when he calls you his, you've never felt more like you belong.

[munsonsreputation]

am i allowed to cry?

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.8k]

warnings: cursing, allusion to depression and anxiety, reader nearly has a mental breakdown over the stress of work/school/and life, steve comes to the rescue don't worry (honestly just wrote this because seasonal depression combined with school and work and life is real as fuck and we all need some comfort), also semi proof-read, sorry!

summary: it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, something too heavy for you to bear all alone, but you do, anyway. and when you finally collapse under pressure, the last person you want to worry is your boyfriend steve, but he’s your safe space, and all he ever wants you to know is that he’s going to be there for you through smiles and tears.

The fatigue settled under your eyes and in the depths of your bones like a heavy weight pulling you down. There was an exhaustion seeping from the inside out, eating you alive until you were merely a shell of yourself. Your stomach twisted in knots unsolvable even with the help of sleep or tea—you felt beyond defeated with no way out.

It didn’t matter where you were and how ‘fine’ you thought you were. The feeling of dread became embedded into your entire existence and it was getting harder to keep up the act and blame it all on school or work. Perhaps it started there, but slowly and surely did the feeling morph into every avenue you steered towards in order to escape.

Your hangouts with friends suddenly turned into an inner panic attack of sorts, feeling the need to keep up with everyone who was doing so well whilst you were barely making it out alive.

Family dinners then turned into interrogations, where they poked and prodded probably with the best intent to figure out why you were so absent, but it all just felt like an attack coming from left and right.

No matter how hard you tried to keep up the facade of being fine and telling everyone they were making a big deal out of nothing, you knew you were moments away from falling apart. At this rate, you were a machine breaking down piece by piece, rusting and stalling until you couldn’t move anymore.

And the absolute last person you wanted to shrink away from was your boyfriend, Steve.

He was the most supportive and present person in your life you could have ever asked for. He never doubted you in anything, and most times he was the one egging you on to go after your dreams. Telling you to take risks and go for it, because you always succeeded in everything you did, and even when it wasn’t on the first try, he knew you were bound to get a hang of it.

A special trait about him that you adored so much was his trust in you. He knew what it was like for people to always question his worth, to try to make it seem like he wasn’t capable or smart enough to make his own decisions so much so that other people had to step in and save him. But to be fair, Steve Harrington never needed to be saved—he just needed the right people around to show him it was okay to make mistakes and learn from it.

And you did just that.

When Steve didn’t know what he wanted to do after graduation, you never pestered him on to go off to college, committing himself to something he wasn’t one hundred percent certain about. Instead, you encouraged him to find his calling, to scour town in order to find different hobbies that had potential job opportunities. To volunteer and possibly shadow in order to widen his options.

You were always supportive and did your best to guide instead of control—and because of that; he was able to find a job that made him happy, surprisingly enough.

And likewise, while Steve never was the biggest fan of structured school, he guided you through your college path. Providing all the moral and emotional support he could offer you, and at times even going as far as to reading a textbook chapter alongside you to help you understand concepts that were all too confusing.

He never pushed too hard, and never made it seem like he didn’t care. There was a perfect balance between your understanding and his—a sort of tune that always was in perfect harmony…until it wasn’t.

You had been assuring Steve that while school and work were surely kicking your butt, you had it all under control, but that was far from the truth. Date nights were seemingly pushed back…not that he minded since he understood you needed to study and rest—but things were beginning to feel more off.

You avoided having him stay the night at your place or even just stopping by to drop you off some food. When you did spend time together, you were physically there, but not mentally. You listened intently to what he had to say, but when it was your turn, you shared little about what was going on with you, and diverted the questions back to him.

A lot of the time, you just seemed out of it. Too far away in your mind for him to reach you, and while he knew everyone had their off days and even off weeks, yours was becoming imminently permanent, and you were beginning to realize it, too.

You sat hunched over at your desk, eyes welling with tears as you stared down at your notes, then back to your textbook, then back to your notes once again. Nothing was making sense, and your patience was slim to none, batting your eyes as the tears fell onto the pages where you were too fed up to care.

Your mind was scattered all over the place, thinking about how you needed to make sense of the content in front of you, but also about the many deadlines of other assignments you had under your belt. On top of that, you had other responsibilities that needed your full attention, yet you sat there wondering how you were even going to complete one of them.

There was something that snapped inside of you. A guttle cry that you let out as you pushed yourself out of your desk chair and stood with your hands threaded roughly in the roots of your hair. Hot, vicious tears floated down your cheeks while you paced in circles attempting to calm yourself down, but nothing worked.

You needed Steve, even when you didn’t want him to see you like this.

He was at your doorstep not even a whole ten minutes after you had phoned him, asking if he would drop by. It was almost midnight, and usually at this hour your nose was buried deep behind textbooks and assignments, but he could just tell something was the matter.

He had asked rushed and worriedly, if everything was okay, but you refused to give him a definite answer, just sniffling back your cries and humming, telling him to come over as soon as he could. The drive was short, and yet for him it felt like eternity until he was face to face with you on your front porch.

“Baby,” His voice was rigid yet gentle, striding closer to you as his warm hands came down to hold your arms, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He breathed, half catching his breath from his haste, and half worried out of his mind.

He bent a little at the knees, trying to get a better look at your face in the dimly lit doorway. All the color was drained from your skin, except the red path your tears took down your cheeks and your bitten lips.

You sniffled hard, an unevenness apparent in your breathing, “N—nothing,” you lied pathetically, closing your eyes as you shook your head, “I’m just a little stressed. You don’t have to worry about m-me.”

There was lots to worry about, especially seeing you in the state that you were in. Steve had seen you stressed out many times before. Worried about running late, leaving something behind, nervous about a final exam, but nothing ever to this extent. This was more than stress, and he knew it.

“Let’s go inside and talk, yeah?” He murmured, ignoring your comment and leading you back into your home, hoping to get you to talk some more.

Guiding you to the kitchen, he switched on the lights, pulling out a chair for you to sit at the dining table while he got you a glass of cold water and some paper towels.

“Have some water, baby,” He knelt on the ground, holding the cup of water to your lips.

You sniffled, closing your eyes tightly as you tried to catch your breath before taking a sip, letting him help you, and pulling the cusp away from your lips before you could cough up. You could feel his eyes boring through you, filled with fret wanting to get down to the bottom of the situation yet letting you go at your own pace.

He took the paper towel, crumbling it up into a small ball to dab over your cheeks and under your eyes, doing his best to soak up all the tears that kept pouring. His heart shook and broke in his chest, wondering what had happened to get you to this state of no return.

“Talk to me sweetheart,” He started, letting one of his hands come to hold your trembling one, giving you a firm squeeze. “What can I do to make it better?” He implored, just wanting to make whatever that was hurting you stop.

The desperation in his voice made another sob rip out from chest, face pinching into something painful as you hung your head low and wept as quietly as you could. You felt so weak and helpless, hating that you pushed yourself to the point where you made the one person who vowed to always be there for you feel as though he wasn’t.

“Babe, shhh, hey c’mon,” He murmured, immediately wrapping his arms around your body, pulling you close to him and burying your face in his chest, “It’s okay. I’m right here, baby. S’okay.”

You hadn’t said anything just amounting yourself to a mess of tears and unspoken feelings, not knowing how you could possibly articulate what you had been going through all this time.

“I—I’m sorry,” You muffled against his chest, causing him to pull away slightly, just to look at you and shake his head wondering why you were apologizing.

“You don’t have to be sorry baby—”

“I’m fucked up, I know I am.” You blurted out, a cruelty in your voice Steve could tell was directed towards yourself, not him.

“I-I’ve been so caught up with school and work that I know I haven’t been the best girlfriend, but I swear—”

“Hey stop it.” He didn’t let you finish, furrowing his brows, determined to make you understand the words you were saying about yourself weren’t true.

“This isn’t about you not being a good girlfriend. You’re so good to me, baby and I promise you whatever it is that’s going on, isn’t because of that. Talk to me. Don’t be scared.”

He assured you with warm circles rubbed over your back, just wanting you to focus on your feelings and not on what you thought you were making him feel. The only thing that mattered to him was understanding you, and how he could fit himself into the puzzle to make it all better.

“I’m just so tired,” You broke down once again, “I don’t feel like myself anymore, and even when I look at myself…I don’t see me.” You croaked, voice breaking in between words.

“All I want to do is relax, but my brain is just on a live wire where I can’t stop thinking and then I start spiraling. If it isn’t school, then it’s work, and if it isn’t work, then I’m thinking about all of the others things I don’t have time for in between school and work.” You heaved, just feeling the panic and frustration arise at the mere conversation.

He hated how he could see the contempt you had for yourself. Fingernails biting into the palm of your hands and a deep-seated frown over your lip, as if you wanted to crawl out of your skin to be someone completely different. But there was no one like you, in his eyes. Whatever it was that you were going through he was going to stand beside you and help you get back to feeling like yourself, the girl he couldn’t imagine living without.

“I’m here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner,” He murmured, pushing the tear soaked strands of hair out of your face. “You work so hard all the time, you deserve a break.”

“I can’t,” you cried, shaking your head, rubbing exhaustingly at your eyes, “I physically can’t. I can’t fall behind when I already am.”

You wanted to listen to his advice, the knowing that deep down he was so very right, but you couldn’t look past the idea of letting people down and falling behind when you knew it was impossible to play catch up.

Steve knew how you operated on a one track mind to get things done and out of the way, which was obviously ideal. However, the amount of physical, emotional, and mental strain the work ethic had put you in was enough confirmation that he needed to step in before it got worse.

“Listen to me, hon,” He said tenderly, grasping your face in his hands, “You need a break. I’m not saying you have to abandon everything, but you need to take it easy on yourself. Learn how to step away and breathe. You’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up…and you know I can’t live without you.”

His sentiment was true and sweet, something he was able to be at all times, even at times like this.

“I’m not going to let you fall behind, baby.” He promised you, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks, pressing a chaste kiss over your lips before he continued, “I’ll help you and we can take it on together, but you can’t keep stuff like this from me okay? The last thing I ever want you to feel is like you have to do it all alone.”

You sniffled, nodding as you swallowed back the lump in your throat, hiccuping slightly, “I-I know, I’m just usually so good at taking on everything, but I don’t know what happened.” You admitted with a shrug.

He nodded understandingly. “You might not feel it, but you’re overworked and that’s okay. I’m going to be here to help any way I can. With school, with work…with breaks.” He smiled softly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You stared up at him apologetically, wishing you hadn’t waited so long to tell him, knowing that he was always your number one confidant and supporter through everything.

Still, he shook his head, caressing your cheeks, “Don’t apologize, I’m here now and I promise it’s going to get better.”

He held you in his arms a little longer, letting you cry the rest of your tears into his chest, before suggesting to head up to your room. Agreeing, he grabbed a fresh cup of water to keep at your bedside before following you up the stairs and into your room.

Books and papers were sprawled out across your desk, hinting to him what had gone down before you called. He knew that school was beginning to take a toll on you with bigger projects and finals approaching, but had no idea it was getting worse and worse as the days passed by—but no longer, not with him around.

“Let me just…” You spoke under your breath, heading towards your desk to get everything cleaned up, now that Steve was spending the night and not wanting him to deal with the mess.

But he was quick to stop you, grabbing you gently by the wrist before you could even close the textbook, causing you to follow his lead to your bed.

“Hey…” He murmured, setting the cup down on the small table beside your lamp, “we’ll figure it out in the morning okay?”

“Hmm,” You hummed with a nod, letting him situate you into bed before toeing off his shoes and getting in beside you.

You turned to face him after he switched off the lamp, encasing you both in complete darkness. Eyes adjusting to the light, enough for you to make out his face, eyes closed peacefully, as his arms went instinctively around your frame, pulling you closer into him—the feeling you had been missing so desperately, wondering why you ever even thought to push it away.

“You know I’ll be here whenever you need me, all the time okay?” His voice broke the silence, nuzzling his face closer to yours, hoping you knew how true every word was.

“I know,” you promised, jutting your chin up to press a kiss to his lips that he smiled into, kissing you back a little harder wanting you to remember the feeling and that alone.

All the stress still lingered in the back of your mind, but the feeling that consumed wasn’t the fear or the exhaustion that had been weighing you down. It was the knowing that you were allowed to feel your feelings around Steve, and the security to know he was your person, rain or shine—and that in itself was enough for you to know it was going to be okay.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: very short one shot in honor of seasonal depression doing its big one on me...but don't worry im surviving through my safe space fiction characters!!! i hope you are all doing well and thank you again for sticking around!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[shwaesar]

More Caesar x Reader HCs

Still SFW but gets suggestive near the end (I'm working up to it ok I'm nervous)

You give him so many conflicting emotions and he never quite manages to come to peace with them. But he comes to peace with not coming to peace with them, if that makes sense.

He knows what he is and takes unapologetic pride in it. He's an ape. A creature forged by nature and nurture, a wild animal at his core, regardless of intelligence. Nothing can change that about him, and that's fine. He doesn't particularly want to change it.

But to love a human being feels almost like a rejection of all that. An ape can't love a human the way another human can. A human can't love an ape the way another ape can. So in a sense, you're both having to redefine your very selves just to try and make it work. To give each other what you want and need, while also adhering to your own wants and needs.

It takes a lot of time and patience to figure it all out, but you get there eventually. Or at least as close to there as you can get.

That thought still lingers in the back of his mind that he's not human enough for you, but on the rare occasion he lets those thoughts known, you're always quick to reassure him that you don't love a human. You love an ape.

'Love' is admittedly used in a nuanced way between the two of you. Love for humans means one thing, love for apes means another. But for you and Caesar, love means to choose one another, despite your many differences.

Maurice is honestly a life saver to have helping you both, educating you about ape romance and reassuring Caesar that his efforts in human romance are-..... well, it's the thought that counts.

He has no idea what he's doing but every now and then he'll pull something off that really cements his devotion to you. After all, he doesn't love an ape. He loves a human.

Flowers end up being his go-to gift, at least when he can get his hands on some. The forest is full of them if you know where to look, and he'll painstakingly pick the 'best' and bind the stems with twine before delivering them to you.

And you keep them in an old soda can filled with water, and about once every few weeks you'll have new ones to decorate your living space with, and Caesar can tell how happy it makes you so he keeps doing it and its honestly precious.

Gift-giving turns out to be a courtship ritual humans and apes have in common! But here's the thing-for humans, gifts are about sentimentality. For apes, they're about practicality.

Every now and then Caesar will bring you an 'ape' gift between more 'human' ones.

Once you've started eating more with the community and he doesn't have to bring you designated meals anymore, he starts surprising you with full on carcasses when he returns from a hunt. A testament to his ability to provide for you, at least in his mind.

They get progressively bigger too. Starts with a few hares. Then a boar. Then a stag.

He delivers you a fucking bear he found hibernating in the winter months, and you get a brilliant fur pelt out of it. Being able to keep you warm makes him swell with pride like nothing else, even if you can't help but feel a little bad for the bear.

You also receive a stone dagger after it's clear their usual weapons are too big and heavy for you. It's carved a bit clumsily, but the edge is sharp and there's a patch of rabbit skin wrapped around the handle to make gripping more comfortable. He feels a lot more confident in your ability to protect yourself once you have it, and seeing you use it is another thing that's makes his chest puff out proudly, because he has made sure you're safe, even when he's not around.

Of coarse, most of the time he is around.

And oh boy, when danger comes he is ready. Doesn't matter if it's a wild animal, another ape, another human- he will fuck a bitch up if they pose a threat to you.

The first time it happens is honestly a little scary. You run into a boar while foraging and it does not look happy, and neither does Caesar.

Blocks off your body with his own, fur standing on end, snarling and hooting aggressively at the creature to try and scare it off. His mind is racing with primal instinct the entire time- he has to protect his mate, has to be ready to go for the kill if it charges at you, he can't let his human get hurt-

It's also the first time you get a good look at his chompers, his lips pulled back to show them off in warning, and it suddenly strikes you how easily those teeth could be used against your own delicate flesh if he so desired, how effortlessly he could maul you, bite your fingers off one by one, rip out your throat-

Let's face it though, it definitely awakens something in you.

When the encounters over he has a nasty cut on his thigh from its tusks, and you get him home to treat the wound as quickly as possible. He's apologising the whole time for loosing his usual self control, for potentially frightening you. But then you tell him it suits him, and lord have mercy, once he processes it, you've awakened something in him too.

But that's a conversation for another post uwu

FOREHEAD KISSES

EXPECT THEM OFTEN

Even before anything's official, it's a gesture of trust and familiarity between the two of you. But when you're his mate, the romantic side of it is delved into more deeply.

Cupping each other's faces to hold the position of your temples touching, intense eye contact, deep breaths. It's a kind of intimacy that really burrows deep into you. Without words, he's able to tell you; I'm here. I've got you.

Human kisses are a bit trickier. He's familiar with the concept, he's seen humans kiss, but ape mouths are a lot bigger than ours and have a lot of different things to work around in order to really kiss something.

He's content to just receive them initially. Your lips are so soft and warm and feel so wonderful pressing against the corner of his own, or to his cheek, or to his open palm. Getting such a human form of affection from you carries almost a level of sanctity for him. Only you have ever kissed him. Only you will ever kiss him.

He'll take it to his grave, but he practices on the back of his hand sometimes so he can eventually return the favour.

Until then, the closest you get is him pressing his closed muzzle to your skin and just... inhaling your scent,

He tells you humans have a distinct smell, but individual humans have their own, more specific smell. When you ask what yours is like, he admittedly has to take a moment to think about it.

"You smell.... like home."

Sweet, right? WRONG. He just doesn't want to admit that he's been subtly making you smell more like him. Gotta make sure his territory is clearly his, after all.

AND SPEAKING OF MARKING TERRITORY

Biting.

He doesnt dare try it at first, too aware of the risks. Human skin is much too thin and sensitive for him to indulge in such a a way, no, he just can't bring himself to potentially do you serious harm, regardless of how badly he wants to.

You'd have to be the one to initiate a conversation about it. You can tell he's restraining himself here and there, from the low growls that slip out when he's embracing you, and with how his tongue drags across his canines, it's not hard to tell what he's holding back in regards to.

So you ask him to bite you. If it's a request, he won't worry that you're just trying to appease him.

He'd still cautious, mind you.

"Are you... sure?"

He says it while all but salivating, eyes dilated as he subconsciously scans your body for a good place.

"Don't want.... to hurt you. It will hurt. You... know that."

With just a little more insistence, he all but pounces at the opportunity.

Apes bite each other affectionately quite a bit, little nips here and there, harder ones usually reserved between mates. It holds meaning for them, displaying trust in the other person. You trusting him like that? He's never been more in love with you than he is in that moment.

He goes for the space between your neck and shoulder, carefully avoiding any major arteries. You feel his breath there first, as he does his usual snuffing and growling.

Then his teeth sink into you. Slowly, his broad tongue pressing into the flesh between them.

And the sound you make-

He pulls back abruptly, releasing you with a hoot of distress and grasping your upper arms to look over the mark left behind. Panic jolts through every fibre of his being, he thinks he seriously fucked up. Apes don't vocalise like that-it must be in pain, yes-you're in too much pain-he should never have-....

....

Oh.

....

Oh.

[joshfutturman]

"happy anniversary" 18+

oneshot - he's anxious to celebrate your one-year anniversary, but it turns out that mike schmidt is just full of surprises. (3.4k words) pairing - mike schmidt (five nights at freddys movie) + gn!reader tags - abby is at a sleepover, established relationship, sort of sappy sometimes, pure filth tho, mike gives you lots of hickies, mike goes down on you while you're on his dining room table, alcohol mention, he maybe pours some wine on you and licks it off :3c oops, fucking against a wall, creampie, mutual orgasm, dirty talk.

a/n - i wrote this to celebrate the ten year anniversary of five night's at freddys! celebrate with me with some good old fashioned smut :3

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

one whole year with mike schmidt, and honestly? you couldn't be happier. you and abby had grown close, mike was smiling more, eating better, sleeping better - you make each other better people. he knows he can lean on you when days get dark, you provide a safe space for him to heal after struggling for so long in his own head.

however, he'd insisted on not celebrating your one-year anniversary. something about him being 'cursed'. this was a pattern with mike, being afraid to celebrate anything good in his life, as though it would be ripped from him in an instant. you tried to protest but knew it was futile. he'd made up his mind, and you knew how hard it was to get inside that stubborn head of his.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

you pretended it didn't bother you that a day spent littering mike with kisses and affection was slipping through your fingers. you could do that any day, right? but what made it special was that it was going to be your day. you pretended not to be disappointed.

pulling up outside his place, you fidget nervously before exiting your car. would he even remember that it's your anniversary? maybe he'd pushed it so far to the back of his mind that it had gotten lost there. that thought hurt. swallowing your dispirited thoughts, you make your way towards the door and pull out your key, adorned with a cute little freddy fazbear keychain abby had given you despite mike's disapproval.

but as you open the door, you're greeted with. . . darkness? the usual lull of mike's living room lights has been replaced with a soft orange illumination instead. there's a small candle on the side table by the door, and then another on the coffee table. . . and another on the tv stand. you step inside and close the door gently, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. what was this?

"hey," his voice pulls you from your confused thoughts, your eyes darting towards the sound of mike's low voice. it's then you see him, standing nervously beside the dining table. even more candles are carefully placed across the table, illuminating the room in a soft warm glow. there's a bottle of wine, two plates with what looks to be a home-cooked meal and. . . was that wilting red roses?

mike clears his throat, grabbing the flowers to busy his hands, but also to extend them to you, a gift. or, they were supposed to be. his eyes glance down at them, the deep scarlet petals fading. he falters at the sight of them, mouth opening and then closing again. "bought 'em a few days ago to be prepared and i guess i, uh. . . didn't really think about the fact that they'd die."

you take a few steps towards him as he continues. this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing, he'd thought about this.

"i just. . . it's not that i didn't wanna celebrate our anniversary," he mumbles, looking anywhere but you, "i was. . . scared? i dunno. listen, i just-"

you shut him up promptly with a kiss, gripping the collar of his hoodie and pulling him against you. his hand instantly goes to your waist, squeezing the soft flesh there as he loses himself in your lips, slowly lowering the flowers in his hand as the thought of them possibly disappointing you leaves his mind.

"i love you," you whisper against his lips, snaking your hands up to cup his cheeks, "i love you." you speak it with great conviction.

between your words, he breathes softly against your lips before diving back in with renewed vigour, tossing the roses aside on the floor and placing both hands on the small of your back. his large hands grip you, fingers splayed across the fabric of your shirt as his tongue slips inside your mouth.

gasping, you melt as he takes you so confidently, a kiss that claims you as his, a kiss that eliminates the need for more words. the way he's gripping you. . . god, you're not sure he's ever held you like this, like he needs you right now or he'll die. tonight, he wants to spoil you.

his hand brushes down along your side to grasp a handful of your thigh, yanking it up and around his hip. you yelp a little and keep your leg firmly wrapped around him, allowing your hips to press closer to his, feeling that familiar bulge tease you. just picturing his length had you shuddering in his arms.

"fuck, mike. . ." you whisper as you pull back for breath, eyes fluttering open.

but he can't wait, he can't part with you for even a second. his lips are immediately on your neck, kissing up along the column of your throat, leaving small red marks that will only grow worse with time. tilting your head back, you expose more of yourself to him gladly. he could have all of you and ask for more, and you'd happily give it to him.

"you always taste so fuckin' sweet. . ." he purrs against your skin, tongue flicking out to soothe those hickies he's so kindly left behind. you can feel the hint of a smirk on his lips against your neck and it makes your knees weak, heat surging in your groin.

oh how his smirks and smiles were so rare, you cherish every single one, especially when they were for you, because of you.

in one swift movement, he lifts you into his arms and turns towards the table, laying you down against the glass. you look up at him in surprise, panting softly, reeling from his touches and the way his lips were so greedily dancing against your skin just moments before.

mike smooths his hands down along your thighs, admiring your soft skin below him, "think i want a taste of somethin' else, though. . ." his hands slide back up to the button of your jeans, popping it open and unzipping quickly.

your chest rises and falls rapidly, heart pounding, looking up at him as he undresses you. you love the way that lust clouds his eyes, those hazel hues growing darker in the dim light, eyes focused on you and only you. "can i?" he whispers, slowly inching your jeans downwards. of course, you nod.

slowly, he rolls the jeans down your hips and along your legs, taking a moment to kiss up along the skin that is exposed to him. his lips find your knee, then your soft calf, eyes closed as he savours every moment with you. tossing your jeans aside, his eyes fixate on the growing need between your legs, instinctively licking his lips. he'd cooked you a meal, sure, but here you were, bringing a meal home for him.

and fuck, your breathing hitches as you watch his hungry stare, suddenly feeling hotter under his gaze. you can't take much more - with shaking hands, you begin to remove your underwear, pulling them down to your ankles, not bothering to remove them completely. mikes calloused hands rest against your thighs, spreading you open a little wider for him as he kneels.

craning your neck, you keep your eyes on him all the while, desperate not to lose sight of him. you want. . . no, you need to watch him as he uses that tongue of his.

jerking you forward just a tad, your hips are drawn to the edge of the table with one pull. mike wraps his arms around your thighs leaning in to nuzzle against your core. his nose nudges you and you whine, feeling sparks throughout your body. finally, some friction.

"thought about this all day. . ." he grumbles, licking a stripe along you sloppily causing you to moan, "i miss you when you're gone." mike admits, and you're not sure what's hotter, his vulnerable words or the way he's looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes from between your thighs.

"missed you too baby, always do," your voice is shaky, body trembling in anticipation and from sheer need. you thread your fingers through mike's hair, your other hand propping you up on the table so you can watch him more easily.

he groans, eyes closing over as he dives back in, licking and sucking your sensitive skin. you love how fucking messy he gets like this, dribbling down his chin, wondering where you end and he begins. you want to watch him, but you reluctantly let your head fall back, overcome with pleasure, eyes closing as you huff into the air, back flush against the table beneath you.

"so good," you whine, moaning at each movement of his tongue. your free hand reaches out to grab something, anything to stabilise you, to ground you in the moment - but in your clumsiness, you almost send the bottle of wine flying from the table.

cursing, you catch it and mike pulls back, looking up to see the commotion. a grin finds its home on his lips as he sees the wine, "thirsty?" he asks.

laughing nervously, you settle the bottle back down in its place, but not before mike places a hand over yours, taking the bottle. swallowing hard, your eyes widen, what was he up to? he had that mischievous look in his eye, normally reserved for when he was feeling especially confident in the bedroom or when he was repressing a dirty joke.

he takes the bottle, unscrewing it as he stands, eyes locked on yours in a heated gaze. you sit there, legs spread, wet with his saliva, suppressing a shudder as the air of the room brushes against the damp spots on your skin.

bringing the bottle to his lips, his eyes still stay firmly on yours with an intensity that causes you to shiver, mouth suddenly feeling dry as you watch the wine spill into his mouth. your eyes fix on his throat, watching as his adams apple bobs with each swallow.

after a gulp, he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve - good thing its a black hoodie - and speaks up, "want some?"

how can you say no? you're laying there, spread open for him, by him. you nod, maybe a little more eagerly than you'd like. but mike knew how much you loved him, how much you craved his touch. you never need to be embarrassed around him.

"alright baby, i'll give you a taste, just wait. . ." he smiles and brings the bottle down, hovering it above your core. your eyes widen, what the fuck was he-

it trickles down, the red wine coating your heat. instinctively, you gasp sharply at the wet, cool sensation, feeling it run down to your ass and along your thighs. with wide eyes, you look up at him in disbelief.

"babe, what are you-"

"shhhh. . . let me spoil you for once," he places the wine back down on the table, kneeling again as he inches closer. then, his tongue begins slowly lapping at the red liquid. he moans softly at the taste, eyes closing as he takes in the combined flavour of both you and the alcohol. he would do this all day if you'd let him, and you could tell how much he loved using his mouth on you.

the sight of him lapping hungrily at you, tongue sliding across your inner thighs, cleaning up the mess he made - it's almost too much. you're gasping and panting and arching your back against the table. "holy fuck mike," you whisper, it's all you could think to say in the moment, the words coming out automatically. it was all so dirty, head reeling at how confident mike was being today, but he was determined to make you feel good, to make up for his insecurities and anxieties of celebrating his anniversary with you.

he just wants to make you feel how much he loves you, how much he worships you.

pulling back, earning a disappointed whine from you, he trails up your body until his reddened lips are on yours, tongue immediately seeking entrance. you accept, wrapping your arms around him as he kisses you. the intoxicating taste of yourself and the distinct notes of red wine fill your senses as mike deepens the kiss, giving you the taste you asked for.

mike feels you smile against his lips, causing him to smile in turn. his cock twitches in need, he's almost painfully hard, each throb reminding him just how desperately he wants to be buried inside of you.

lifting you from the table, he turns and pins you against the wall, ensuring your legs are wrapped firmly around his. "hold on," he instructs before kissing you once more, a lazy kiss as he pushes his joggers and underwear down.

already you feel his hardened length hit your thighs and you whine. fuck, you want it so bad. you bite your tongue to stop yourself from begging him to fuck you nice and hard.

"can i fuck you like this?" he asks in a hurried whisper, panting softly as his hands return to hold you up by your thighs, pushing you a little harder against the wall. even in the heat of the moment, he wants to make sure you're comfortable.

your head spins at the question, and you nod quickly, "please, fuck me."

bringing a hand down to position himself at your entrance, you gasp as you feel his slick, leaking tip against you. he does the same, hissing softly at the contact. once he feels himself easing him, he moves his hand back to your plush thighs, digits digging into the skin.

mind blank, head feeling empty, all that you can think about is how perfectly he's pushing into you, how perfectly he's stretching you out right now. your head rests back against the wall, eyes closed as you adjust to his girth. his saliva and remnants of the wine drip down against him and onto the floor, but he doesn't fucking care.

his eyes watch your expression shift with great interest, watching at every subtle shift, the way your eyebrows twitch, your mouth falls open as his cock slides deeper. . . god he fucking loves you.

"that good baby?" he asks, voice husky as he attempts to keep his composure.

you simply nod, biting your lip as he slides in all the way, his hips meeting your thighs with a soft smack. you both sigh in satisfaction, you're full of him, but it's not enough, he needs to move.

and shit, it's like he reads your mind, because he does. slowly, he begins pistoning his hips up into yours. gradually at first, keeping a slow and steady pace as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. soft, needy moans slip from your lips as he fucks you, back pressed tightly against the wall.

his name sings from your lips, gripping the base of his hair and his back. he loves how you say his name, how it drips from your lips so sweetly. he bucks his hips a little faster in response, his body moving without thinking. his stubble prickles at your neck as he groans softly against your skin, brows arching as you clench around him.

"just like that," you coo, fingers dancing through the curls that find their home at the back of his head, "don't stop. . ."

mike didn't plan to. he'd fuck you forever if he could, truly. it was always such a serene experience with you, helped his mind go blank, clear those poisonous thoughts. . . mind filled instead with thoughts of fucking you, hearing those pretty little moans, making you cum on his aching cock and burying his load deep inside of you.

and that's exactly what he plans on doing tonight.

one whole fucking year, one whole year. mike wonders how he got so lucky to have you, he prays to a god he doesn't believe in that he'll never lose you like he's lost so many things he's cherished.

"love you. . ." he suddenly whispers against your neck as his pace increases, slamming into you with a force that takes your breath away. the hurried shift in speed has you reeling, gripping him tighter, every thrust pushing you back against the wall.

"f-fuck mike!" you call out, gasping, "love you too baby, don't stop. . . keep fucking me like that, just like that."

he groans deeply, his voice rumbling against your neck as his grip on your thighs intensifies, growing tighter - just like you are around his dick.

you're close, he can tell, and he's not far behind either, lost in a haze of how much he loves you. your thighs begin to tremble against him, your whole body tensing as the pleasure coils and weaves in your lower body, settling across your stomach.

oh fuck, this might be the most intense orgasm you've ever experienced. this angle, the way he's pumping up into you relentlessly, how can it get more -

he looks up at you, sweat beading on his forehead, mouth stained red from the wine, "cum for me." mike pleads.

oh. fuck. it got hotter.

"gonna cum-" you whimper with a nod, arching your back against the wall which allows him to go deeper, hitting that sweet, sweet spot.

when he hears those moans, he knows he's got you. you're gonna cum for him, gonna cum all over him just like he wants you to. he pants at his exertion, thrusting harder, the room filling with sounds of skin slapping against skin. his eyes lock on your face, watching desperately for the moment you fall over the edge.

"c'mon, baby, cum for me. that's it. . ."

and you can't hold back. the orgasm rips through you like a tornado, filling every sense, dismissing every thought, quelling every worry, until everything is just him. it's just him and the way he's fucking you and looking up at you like you're the most beautiful and perfect thing he's ever seen, like he'd go to the ends of the earth and back just to make you smile.

you're moaning like crazy, practically screaming as his dick hits that spot over and over with the way you're angled and the way he's pumping up into you. you clench around him frantically, involuntarily through pleasure, causing him to gasp and for his eyes to grow hazy - a sign that he was about to cum too.

fuck, you love the way his face shifts when he cums. the way his brows relax, mouth falls open, eyes growing distant as his cum fills you nice and deep. and you feel it, the white, hot sticky mess emptying inside of you causing you to moan even more.

you both gasp in pleasure as it overcomes the two of you, mike's thrusts faltering as he empties himself into you. your eyes lock together, watching as you unravel for each other.

as the overwhelming sensations begin to subside, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a hungry, sloppy kiss. you return the favour, chasing his lips with equal messiness - coming down from your high.

"happy anniversary baby. . ." he mumbles against your lips as you smile, swallowing hard as you feel him slowly leak out of you.

you pause, glancing behind him to the table and the meal he'd so generously and thoughtfully made for you, a slight sadness in your tone as you speak up, "shit, sorry. . . think the dinners gone cold?"

"don't need dinner, i already had my dessert," mike chuckles cheekily, kissing the side of your lips, then your cheek, then your nose and back to your lips again.

and you giggle under his onslaught of affection, "yeah, but i didn't. . ." grinning, you lick your lips and glance downwards between you, his dick on your mind again already despite him fucking you senseless just a few moments prior.

his brows raise, a smirk overtaking his features - now all he can imagine is that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around his hard cock. it wouldn't take him long to get hard again. maybe this anniversary thing wasn't so bad.

mike kisses you once more, pressing you more firmly against the wall as he allows a hand to travel up and rest at the base of your throat.

fuck, if this was your one-year anniversary, what was your two-year anniversary going to be like? your ten-year anniversary? your legs go weak at the thought of mike fucking you just like this for the rest of your life.

"happy anniversary, mike."

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

[gabessquishytum]

Dream is a vampire who struggles with luring in thralls. He can put people to sleep, which works just fine in order to feed himself with minimum fuss, but he can’t seem to find the knack to tying even one mortal’s mind to himself for the long-term, who is forevermore convinced that all they live for is to provide him blood and devotion.

All of his siblings can manage it in one way or another; for example, Desire has a gift for making their thralls believe that they fulfill all the humans’ strongest wants and longings, Death manages to convince her thralls that she’s their dearest and oldest friend and thus someone they can trust implicitly, and Destiny somehow overwhelms his thralls with the belief that they were always fated to stay by his side and provide him with sustenance.

Dream has been studying and researching and preparing though, and he’s ready to try luring in his first permanent thrall, the perfect companion and pet to care for and feed from.

And here in the woods, away from anyone that might stop him, he finds the most perfect man seemingly tailored exactly to his taste. At first sight, he knows that he wants this man always beside him, prettied up and pampered like a good and precious pet should be.

Dream wants to have him wrecked under him, to see those big brown eyes well up with tears as he begs for yet another orgasm. Dream can already see it in his mind’s eye, can see this lone traveler turned into his sweet little pet, his mind fucked out of him and enthralled forever.

And so he steps out from the trees and throws everything he’s learned into the thrall magic. His voice is as soft as a lullaby, and he coaxes the man’s name — Hob Gadling — and life’s story out of him until he is entirely at ease, allowing Dream further and further into his space and thus tightening the vampire’s hold on his mind.

Before long he’s enticed Hob to lay back on the forest floor and remove his clothes, to open his legs up to him and bare his neck.

Even with Dream’s new knowledge and skill, he’s amazing at how easily Hob falls into the thrall, already looking at him with eagerness and adoration even as his back meets the ground, immediately agreeing when Dream proclaims that Hob now belongs to him, is his forevermore, and will consider Dream his beloved master. The only conclusion Dream can come up with is that the darling man is particularly susceptible to mind magic, practically made to be a devoted pet to someone like Dream. Clearly it’s a good thing he found him when he did, before some other unscrupulous creature could snatch him up and take advantage of him, abusing the poor thing before draining him dry.

As Dream pounds into his new thrall’s hole and lovingly licks the bite marks he’s left on Hob’s neck, he revels in his newfound skill, and looks forward to taking very good care of his pet.

——

Hob Gadling is a fairly seasoned traveler, and has gained a few boons on his adventures from decently powerful people. Like the spell cast on him by a grateful witch that permanently grants him immunity to mind manipulation magic, including vampires.

So Hob could be considered safe in his own mind when the beautiful—and clearly vampiric—stranger emerge from the spooky woods and immediately tries to enchant him, and doesn’t appear to realize that the magic isn’t touching him. It’s ultimately a moot point though, when Hob “But Red is My Favorite Flag Color” Gadling decides to go along with it anyway, allowing his new “Master” to fuck him and feed from him, and then take him home with him afterwards.

At some point Hob might decide end the charade and continue his traveling, but as he shamelessly rubs himself against an indulgent but pleased Dream as they settle into his new home, he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s an unlikely possibility.

(He is admittedly looking forward to seeing how long it will take Dream to realize that Hob is in fact unaffected by his magic, and is choosing to be his pet. At the very least he’s curious if the vampire will even notice that Hob is a particularly long-lived pet, thanks to a different boon of immortality given to him by a grateful goddess he once helped 😁)

-🪽anon

I'm on a real vampire kick lately what with Good Dog au AND it being spooky season, so I am sooooo into this!!

The truth is Hob was kind of going through a rough patch, so he was very grateful to be taken in by such a kind, sweet "master". Dream isn't the type to want his thralls all skinny and beaten up, far from it! He makes sure to give Hob the absolute best of everything: nice new clothes, good food, warm baths. He really treats Hob like a pampered lap dog, always trying to tempt him with some new treat or gift. Hob quickly becomes very spoiled and is very content to laze around while Dream takes care of him. The best part is that Hob doesn't even have to think for himself, because Dream does all the important decision making. Hob’s only job is to thoroughly enjoy himself and act like the cutest little himbo.

He wakes up each morning and gladly spreads his legs for Dream to fuck into him. Sometimes he dozes off again while Dream works his pretty little hole. Sometimes he stays awake while Dream plays with his nipples and makes him beg to be allowed to cum. Either way Hob always bares his neck eagerly: he LOVES being bitten and will pout if Dream doesn't drink "enough" from him. What a sweet little pet he is!

When Dream’s family come around and inspect his new thrall, Hob has to press a finger to his lips and silently beg Death and Desire not to tell Dream that he's not actually under any spell at all (they can tell immediately, of course). And they do keep the secret, because Dream finally seems so happy, and there's no harm it in really. Hob is enthralled by Dream, just not in a magical way - it's just love.

Hob is so relieved when Dream’s siblings go away. He crawls right into Dream’s lap and starts riding his cock, rubbing all over him and nearly purring. He doesn't want to travel anymore or be cold and wet and alone. He's so happy with his "master", why would be ever want to leave? He's quite happy to be Dream’s spoiled pet immortal blood bank, thanks very much.

And Dream never wants or needs another pet, with Hob’s delicious blood sustaining him. He's so glad that Hob seems happy too... maybe Dream IS good at keeping thralls, after all!

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 5

Moniker: Alejandro Risk Level: Low. Alejandro has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Priest, cum, blood Safeword: Refer to first brief. It said you were agnostic in your file so reckoned you’d be ok with this one. Safeword out if you’re not, Ale won’t hold it against you - Price He is a benevolent God - Rudy

“Oh my child, are you ok?”

You had been given only a thin, white gown to wear and you knew he could see everything through it as you walked into the room. Inside there was a strange opulence to the space.

You hadn’t ever been inside a Catholic church, hadn’t considered that there would be so much violence staring down at you from the walls. You were caught staring at the 4th Station of the Cross, the way whoever had sculpted it had made the twist of limbs and the broken skin so visceral.

You could feel the stare of that figure twisted in pain on the cross, the weight of being judged a sinner.

You only froze for a moment, taking in Alejandro. He was handsome in a way that conveyed steadiness, safety. Those soft brown eyes were enough for you to launch yourself into his arms, sobbing explanations about your wickedness as he gently held you and ran a hand down your head in a gesture of comfort.

“There cordera perdido, you are safe. You are safe with Father Ale” he said, the low vibration of his voice soothing to you.

You could feel him through your dress and knew that you may as well have been naked for the very little modesty it provided, but you supposed he was a man of the cloth so to him sins of the flesh held no sway. His warm hands were on your shoulders then, applying pressure.

“You must kneel child, this is a house of God. We will absolve you of your sins and then all will be well.”

Your knees hit the floor and the air felt unbearably heavy. The priest tucked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him from your knees.

“You must pray.”

Your hands clutched together in reverence, wanting to give this man what he wanted so he could deem you clean. Your head fell to your chest when his finger left, eyes squeezed shut and begging whatever deity would listen to help you. You were not a bad person, you were just doing your job, enjoying it so much was forgivable.

Something was pressed to your lips and your eyes shot open, the tip of his cock being fed to you by the priest now.

“Take this, all of you, and eat it. This is my body, given up for you” he said, eyes fixed on you.

They weren’t soft anymore, they looked crazed. When you tried to move you head away his other hand cupped the back of it, forcing his meat to press against your lips almost painfully before you opened your mouth to him. He did not push inside you, instead he started stroking himself.

“Confess.”

When you didn’t answer he smeared his pre-cum across your lips with the tip of his cock.

“Confess your wickedness so I may give you penance to earn forgiveness.”

“I… I let Soap lick me.”

“Where? You must be honest.”

“He licked my pussy.”

“More.”

“My clit. He put his tongue in my hole. Both of my holes.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

“Yes Father, I enjoyed it.”

He wanked himself off faster, his fingers brushing your mouth anytime his hand reached the tip.

“What else?”

“Farah took my virginity. I bled for her and came for her. I loved how Keegan leathered my ass and cunt with his hand. Rudy choked me on his cock and I wanted more, I wanted him to use me even while he was trying to fight his own urge to fuck my throat.”

It came out of you in a torrent, the confessions. It wasn’t even a week in and you were turning into someone who craved what these people did to you.

“Tongue out. You must find your release, only then can I give you your cleansing.”

You stuck your tongue out and played desperately with your clit. It was a quick and violent sort of orgasm and he pumped himself to release his holy seed for consumption upon your tongue. You wanted absolution, so you did not waste a drop.

He took a small vial from his robe. The liquid was viscous.

“Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

This time he simply hooked a thumb between your teeth, forcing your mouth open and pouring the liquid in. You choked, trying to spit out the thick coppery tasting wine. He covered your mouth and cooed little praises, encouraging you until you swallowed it down. You thought you might have been crying. Was it from the warmth of forgiveness?

He was looking at you softly again, reverently, like you were the holy one.

“You are too sweet to serve penance to earn forgiveness, instead I give it freely to you. What happens to you in this place is my will and it is holy for you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes Father.”

Even as you came down from it all and he kissed you softly and handed you off to Price, you found some comfort in the act of someone telling you that you were not immoral for what was happening here. If you were ever to find religion, you think perhaps Ale would be a good God.

[choiwonder]

HELLO NEIGHBOR . JOHNNY SUH

tw/cw ༝ 0.5k wc, smooth talker johnny, usage of pet names (sweetheart, baby), suggestive, he is so flirty it has me giggling and kicking my feet, making out. if you would like to make me happy just send me johnny fics & pics <333

neighbor! johnny that can be found, hanging out in the front yard, lengthy body glistening in the sun with shades over his eyes, resting on a beach chair with mark and yuta. he watches a moving truck enter the private community, parking in the driveway of the home directly next to his. curiosity peaked, it was a surprise to find you, a rather young looking individual, in a community filled with older ones, moving all your boxes into the house yourself.

neighbor! johnny who shares no hesitance in providing assistance, introducing himself. how could a cute little thing such as yourself be doing this all alone? with a flash of his smile, and a few words, johnny’s charm took its effect. he’s still got it. he’s such a good talker. every hour you spent putting your belongings inside, he’s engaging in conversation, making you laugh and wonder why are guys like this so rare to find? it’s the bare minimum, you tell yourself, forcing your heart and mind to ignore any rushed feelings that might arise for this man.

“what’s your name, sweetheart?” he grins, leaning against the frame of your door. the sun has set, yuta has left, mark had gone inside and all your belongings were safely stored.

he listens carefully, watching your lips move, repeating the name to himself a few times, “well, y/n, i wanna come over tomorrow to help with the rest of this, is that okay?”

neighbor! johnny that keeps his promise of coming over the next day, heading to you as soon as he got off work. you don’t question the absence of mark and yuta, secretly yearning for some time alone. he’ll get you a bottle of liquor he stole from work as a first souvenir for your home, encouraging that you have some together.

“wanna taste?” he’ll joke (not rlly), seething as he swallows and pointing to his lips. they’re lightly coated in the alcohol, resembling a gloss. only making them look more tempting to taste. yes, you think. you want to so so badly but fight every voice that tells you to do so and bite down on your bottom lip, shaking your head with a laugh.

neighbor! johnny who encourages you to succumb to your urges, trapping you in the corner of your kitchen. your back is pressed against the counter, breath rate on the rise as you could feel his body heat surround your space. it’s criminal how good he smells.

“come on, just a taste,” he’ll grin. stop. don’t make that face, “i promise i won’t bite, baby.” fuck it.

neighbor! johnny that finally gets to mold his lips against yours, one hand finding loose placement around your neck whilst the other digs under your shirt, squeezing desperately at the skin. it’s funny, really. how quick you’ve got him ready to touch you in ways that no other person has and how quick you’re whining under his lanky frame, making him wonder how long its been since someone has had you like this. his lips nibble up the skin of your jaw, reaching the sensitive skin of your ear, “let’s take this back to my place.”

© choiwonder ༝ do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work on any platform, or claim it as your own.

[belit0]

I feel filthy for asking this. 😌 But I’ll wear my shame with pride. HC for Uchiha’s walking in on fem!xreader using a hairbrush to masturbate with? Do they help? Or are down dirty with the fact that she took pleasure into her own hands? 😈 To make things interesting, they’re not s/o, just merely friends or acquaintances.

Babyyyy, you're safe here, nothing of feeling dirty about it!!!❤️‍🩹🛐

My only job it's to make all of u horny, so I'm happy to oblige😩💕

Indra

- With this man, there is no such thing as just friends or acquaintances, Indra has owned her (at least in his head) from the very first moment he decided he wanted her all to himself. This guy's possessiveness is enormous, and he can't stand to see his wife (at least, again, in his head) take such matters into her own hands. He will snatch the comb out of her grasp, and fuck her right then and there, regardless of what she says.

Madara

- He doesn't quite know how to react, unsure whether he should be there in the first place or not. Madara was simply passing by (Y/N)'s house to discuss some things, entering upon noticing the door strangely open. Of course he never thought he'd hear moaning and see this image, almost virginal panic running through his veins. He decides to leave and pretend he didn't see anything, but will touch himself with that image in mind almost every night.

Izuna

- Right off the bat, let's make clear that this boy is a pervert. Encountering such a scene only provides unexpected pleasure, a source of inspiration, and he tries not to be noticed by (Y/N) while spying on her. He stands behind the door and records every second of it with his Sharingan, storing up motives for later fucking her without shame. Now that Izuna saw her in action, he will do everything he can to get that wonderful pussy.

Obito

- Panic at its peak. Obito calmly walked into the room without many thoughts in mind, trying to ask some questions to (Y/N). They both look each other in the eyes at the exact moment the comb enters her, and the woman seems to move it on purpose in front of his gaze. Not knowing what to do, he utters an embarrassed "sorry" before running away.

Shisui

- Served on a silver platter. Shisui has had his eye on this woman for some time now, looking for opportunities to insinuate himself and get her between his sheets with pretty words. Life seems to smile on him when he finds her rubbing her clit with the comb, and without hesitation, he occupies the space between her legs with his tongue after asking her if she wants it that way.

Itachi

- Hot and bothered. He desires (Y/N) from the first moment he saw her, beautiful and perfect woman taking his mind hostage and crushing any coherent thought. Sure, it's a beautiful image, seeing her vulnerable and in a state of pure arousal, but it's not how he wants this to happen. He pretends he didn't see anything, deciding that if he fucks her, it's because she wants it too.

[deleteddewewted]

What It’s Like To Date Simon “Ghost” Riley

W/N: I'm using the comics and combining them with the reboot MW2. I recommend reading them to understand some of this, there's SA, Abuse, and many more disturbing subjects. I'm also not going to romanticize abuse here, this is more of Simon lashing out due to fear and it's not excused. We're not going to pull a Colleen Hoover.

W: Child Abuse, Angst, Fluff, Hurt With Comfort, Insinuated sex, Sexual Abuse, Talks of Torture, Mental Illness, Unhealthy Relationships, Disturbed Simon Riley, Friends With Benefits, Eventual Relationship, Eventual Monogomy, Minor Soap/Ghost

He’s scared of himself.

He’s especially terrified of you.

You provide him with a comfort he’s never known outside of his mother's.

He feels like vomiting when you hold his hands in your own or make him dinner instead of letting him eat his MREs.

You don't treat him like a child but you do make him feel safe like his mother once made him feel.

You shushed the voices in his head away as you slipped your hands underneath his balaclava and brushed his hair.

You pressed your body close to his and wrapped your arms around his body so he'd feel as protected as you did.

You were an anchor to him. One he didn't want to be ripped away from.

When he wakes up sweaty and panting, he reaches for you and the knife he keeps under his pillow.

He couldn't save himself in his nightmares but he sure can keep you safe.

He could save you.

You'd kiss his knuckles, because kissing his neck set him on edge, and mumble about how lovely he is.

"You're human Simon, it doesn't matter how damaged you think you are, I still love you just as you love me."

He'd scream at times.

At you and it hurt him when he'd snap out of it.

His words were all bitter and filled with venom but they nearly never phased you unless it was about things you've shared with him that were intimate.

"You're as shit as I am! You're shit! I'm shit! I hate you! You make me feel weak! I wish you'd die!" He was red and tense in the face. His mask was off and on the floor all while he walked out of your shared apartment to fuck off somewhere where his anger could fizzle out.

The apartment had felt cramped and your questions about his day set him off.

He felt like he was suffocating with just how domestic the space felt and how happy you looked while you prepped dinner for the two of you.

Simon met reason at a bar while 6 drinks deep.

He groaned all while paying for his drinks and heading home, piss drunk and feeling numb.

He shouldn't have felt hurt when you disappeared for the night, not when you didn't kiss him awake the next morning.

He had no right to cry while he ate the dinner you had taken the time to wrap it up with plastic and put it in the fridge for him to heat up later.

He cried all night while hugging the shirt you used for bed.

He waited for you to come back, he even called your friends to see if any of them knew where you were. By the end of the week, he had to head back to base and you didn't kiss him goodbye.

While deployed, you sent him a letter.

You didn't mention the way he hurt you nor the ugliness he bought into your life. You just wrote about how you miss his warmth and that you'll have dinner ready for him when he got back.

"So... I'm guessing you guys are a thing?" It all felt awkward, Soap had felt the tension that Ghost had carried into work after his short leave.

All Ghost had done during their deployment was turn on his phone to stare at the home screen.

Your smile was bright and your eyes soft.

You were a sight to behold. Ghost wanted you there with him.

He needed to feel you again.

"We're just fuck buddies, nothing more." The term left a sour taste in his mouth because he wanted to be more too.

Fear ate at him as he dreamt of you taking care of him. Your hand on his cock all while you whispered sweet nothings into his ear and your other hand playing with his hair.

He was compliant to your touch and all he could do was whine and moan at your gentle touch.

He wakes up with dry cum in his briefs and tears in his eyes. He misses you.

When he gets back he makes sure to grab your favorite takeout and a bottle of wine.

You look tired when you open the door. The bags under your eyes and the confusion that sets in while you look at his bare face.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" You're not mad. He wanted you to yell at him because he knows he deserves it but you instead just look at him like nothing happened.

"I wanted to fix things. I want to make this work." He can feel his eyes start to water and he hands you his gifts before getting down on his knees and holding onto your legs.

You pat his head and comfort him all while he cries and begs you to take him back.

He's a man eaten by his demons but that wasn’t a real excuse for his cruelty.

He was acting like his father and he wanted to die because of it.

"We can make this work, but only if you get professional help. Because Simon," You lower yourself to the floor and hug him. Your chest pressed against his head, his ear right on top of your heart. "I can't save you from your past. I can't be that person. Not again. Not anymore, but I will always love you."

He nods as he listens to your heartbeat. He promises to do better and he promises to look for help.

So he does.

The therapist is more helpful this time around. She listened to him and his fears of losing you.

He's a little scared though. His thoughts take him to places he wishes he couldn't go to but he has to face the music if wants to get better.

Every session is trying, his eyes dry and swollen from crying and shaking while he recounted the horrors of the past.

You stood there, arms open and a warm meal ready for him to eat every time he got back home.

"Thank you, love." He grew comfortable with kissing you.

No longer teeth on flesh with hickeys left behind but tenderly, loving.

He told you more about his life, his childhood, how much he missed his family, how much he wanted to be normal so he could maybe, someday, have one of his own with you.

"Would you want that with me?" He cried as he continued to eat his meal. He was so grateful for your care even while he choked on his own saliva.

"Oh, Simon. I told you I'll always be here for you and I intend to keep that promise." You helped him clean up.

You made sure to get him into bed dry and with warm clothes before letting him lay on top of you.

Most nights he talks to you about the things his father would do to him. The beatings, the lashings, the mental torment.

"She probably had a family. Maybe had friends looking for her. And she died in a dingy toilet thanks to my dad." His breath hitched as he felt the tears well up again. "I feel like I'm to blame for her passing."

You didn't speak back but instead provided comfort.

He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you and his face tucked in your neck.

He was home, safe, and loved. He felt nourished, his skin finally fitting over his bones.

He felt human all while he listened to your heartbeat and felt your chest raise and fall as you slipped into slumber.

Ghost was no longer someone who had to hide all the ugly from you, Simon would make sure to set him right if it meant being able to have one more night with you.

Like this, on you, sleeping, and knowing you were his.

[kckt88]

Cruel Intentions - SNEAK PEEK!

Summary:

Two brothers who attend an elite university make a bet: to deflower the new dean's daughter before the start of the new semester.

Warning(s): Language, Drug Taking, Slight Homophobic Language, Bet Making, Maniplulation, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V, Safe Sex, Major Character Death.

MODERN AEMOND x O.C

HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE MOVIE - CRUEL INTENTIONS

Word Count: TBC

Taglist -

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“I accept-now what are the actual terms of the bet?” asked Aemond.

“You know the new dean’s daughter-“

“-Reese Hargrove?” asked Aemond.

“Yeah, that one-little miss prim and proper thinks she too good for anyone, so I say we knock her down a peg or two” replied Aegon.

“-And how do we do that?”

“You will seduce her and then discard her” said Aegon.

“Seriously? That’s too easy-not even remotely enough of a challenge, got one of those moron friends of yours to do it” laughed Aemond.

“Did I mention that she’s a proper daddy’s little princess-“

“Again boring” said Aemond yawning.

“-And a virgin” replied Aegon smirking.

“How’d you know that?” asked Aemond curiously.

“I take it you didn’t read her little manifesto in the University magazine” asked Aegon as he threw a copy onto the glass table.

“Menstrual cramps?” asked Aemond as he glanced at the front cover.

“Shut up and turn to page sixty four” snapped Aegon.

Aemond rolled his eye and picked up the magazine, he flicked through the pages until he found the one, he wanted.

“Why I plan to wait by Reese Hargrove-Jesus christ is she for real?” asked Aemond.

“Oh, she’s daddy’s little angel-a paradigm of chastity and virtue”.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as Aegon ripped the magazine from his grasp.

“Let’s see-boring, boring, boring-I love my parents, boring, boring, boring-making a mature decision-oh here, she has a boyfriend named Trevor, been going out for a year and he understands” said Aegon mockingly.

“Trevors gay” snarked Aemond rolling his eye.

“My point is-you and I have fucked our way through most of the girls at university, which is hardly a challenge anymore”.

“So, all I have to do is fuck her and I win the bet?” asked Aemond.

“Pretty much-but if you’re thinking it’ll be easy then your wrong-” muttered Aegon.

“How do you even know that?

“Remember that up tight chick I told you about over Easter?” said Aegon.

“The one who broke your nose after you tried to finger-wait that was her?” asked Aemond trying to stifle his laughter.

A girl with some bite to her-now this could be interesting.

“Yes, it was her, proper humiliated me in front of everyone so now it’s payback time”.

“So, this bet is just your desperate attempt at getting revenge against a girl who wasn’t interested in you-for fuck sake Aegon” muttered Aemond running a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

“Oh, cut the moral high ground shit brother it doesn’t suit you-or do I need to remind you of the time you fucked your way through all four of the Baratheon sisters in the space of a week”.

“Far point-so I fuck Hargrove and then what?” asked Aemond.

“Providing you have proof of the deed being done, then I’ll let you fuck Alys” replied Aegon.

“What does Alys have to say about all of this-” mused Aemond.

“Well of course I asked her before I discussed things with you, and she agreed-“

“-Just like that?” asked Aemond disbelief.

“We have a semi open relationship remember-as long we tell each other that we want to fuck someone else, then it’s ok. Sometimes we even share” shrugged Aegon.

“Well, I’m not into sharing” growled Aemond.

“Do you seriously think I want to see your bare arse-no thanks. I just meant that me and Alys are open to many forms of expressing ourselves and our love” said Aegon.

“-And you’re ok with her potentially fucking your own brother?”

“You have to win the bet first” laughed Aegon.

“-And if I fail?”

“I get your car which I will make sure to fuck Alys in” quipped Aegon smirking.

“Fine-you’re on” said Aemond holding out his hand.

“There was me thinking you’d need a little more convincing” said Aegon smirking as he shook his brother's hand.

“Thing is, can you imagine what this would do for my reputation? Screwing the new deans daughter before the semester starts” mused Aemond.

“Would be one of your greatest victories-aside from the school nurse that you fucked last year, I’m still surprised they didn’t kick you out for that” said Aegon reaching for his silver cross necklace and pulling away the end.

The white power lingering on the small scoop spilled over the edge as Aegon lifted it to his nose and inhaled it in one sharp breath.

“Speaking of getting kicked out-if mum and dad see you doing that again, they will go crazy, they told you last time that there were no more chances” said Aemond.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them-besides you need to start making nice with Reese”.

“I suppose this would make an interesting chapter”.

“Oh, gee your journal, could you be any more queer?” said Aegon.

“Could you be more desperate to read it” smirked Aemond, his grip tightening around his leather bound journal.

“I would say good luck brother-you’re going to need it-besides it might be worth mentioning that you only have a limited time in which to get Hargrove into bed” replied Aegon.

“What do you mean?”

“Her father’s preoccupied with getting ready for the new semester, so Reese is staying at our aunt’s place for a few weeks, but I also know that she’ll be spending the last two weeks of summer break at her grandmothers-so that means you’ve only got four weeks to win the bet” said Aegon.

“FUCK” exclaimed Aemond as he turned on his heel and left the room.

[actual-changeling]

Do you think Aziraphale has been verbally, emotionally and psychologically abused by Heaven as well?

I will answer this question like one asked in good faith even though my gut is telling me there's a 50/50 chance it is very much not one.

So!

There are two parts to his answer, or rather one question is actually two.

Firstly, we have to talk about whether heaven is abusive, what that abuse looks like, and how it differs from hell.

Secondly, how did the results of question one affect Aziraphale, if it is different from what the other angels in heaven face, and what additional trauma might he have experienced due to being on earth.

I could write a 10k meta post about this and go into the finest detail, but I will just try and stick to the main points for now. It's still going to be way too long because I am so fucking tired of people accusing me of 'hating' Aziraphale or harassing me on my posts or in my inbox.

Is heaven abusive? Yes, and it applies to both heaven as an institution and the Archangels running it.

Getting to know Muriel and what their life looks like was extremely helpful in properly defining this, because they showed us that although the Archangels tend to travel and work as a group, most of the angels are incredibly isolated.

The result is complete emotional neglect, which not only impairs your ability to form and maintain healthy relationships with other people, it also stops your from learning emotional regulation and how to behave and feel as a part of (angelic) society. We see the consequences of that in Muriel, who comes across as overly naive, socially awkward, and out of touch with not just people but themselves.

When your entire life has been shrunk down to what happens inside your own head, suddenly being confronted with having to live outside of your mind is jarring, overwhelming, and foreign.

How do you talk to people when no one ever taught you how to do that? How do you behave around someone after a lifetime of being alone? How do your regulate your responses to their behaviour?

Who are you when there is someone else to perceive you?

Figuring that out is complicated and it takes time, and while most of the angels are only distantly aware of how humans live and what kind of interactions some of the other angels might have, the effects of that neglect stay the same whether they are aware of it or not.

Muriel shows us that angels are not born/made as a blank slate, and neither are humans for that matter. Tabula rasa as a philosophical belief is one thing, but reality is very, very different.

Angels also appear to have the same inherent need for connection, for a caretaker that loves them unconditionally, for someone to help them figure out how to be, and that provides a safe space to make mistakes. Without some or all of that, you grow up into a disregulated, socially awkward if not inept person who does not know how to have relationships or how to properly exist.

It is one of the reasons why autistic people are a) almost always traumatized to some degree and b) do not know how to socialize. No one ever works with our brains, and the resulting neglect is very similar to not receiving any help at all.

If you are now curious what happens if you're both autistic and were completely socially neglected, the result is uh. me. Hi! Not nice, but at least I am very sure I win the award for being my therapist's most fucked up client, so that's something.

Yet the angels are not solely emotionally neglected, the system/household they live in demands a low self-esteem, a lack of individual identity, and complete adherence to a defined ideology and behavioural pattern. In short, you are told how to be a useless, tiny part in a bigger machine, that your only purpose is to succeed at your tasks, and any opportunity for individual development is removed or destroyed.

If you are now once again curious what that might be like, uh, yeah, hi once more. Obviously my childhood was not exactly like an angels life, but the core characteristics were the same, just realized differently. Again, not pretty, really, really fucks you over.

Take that and the neglect, combine it into one person, and then drop them in the Garden of Eden—hello Aziraphale! Crowley got dropped into hell first, experienced more abuse, and then dug his way up into Eden before joining him.

Aziraphale experienced everything Muriel (and Crowley, and every other celestial being) also experienced, with one main difference: He is the one who got away.

We have to remember that out of every single celestial being, Aziraphale got the best deal. He did not fall, he got out of heaven (more or less) permanently, and was then largely left alone.

Does that erase anything I laid out above? No, of course not!

It simply provided him with the opportunity to heal, to take his cPTSD and who knows what other disorders he developed as a result, and start recovering.

Canonically, heaven did not bother him, like, ever, except for the odd note about 'frivolous miracles' or ten minutes of catching up every millennia. They only started monitoring him once they started to suspect he was involved with Crowley and trying to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Aziraphale worked on some things, he got better in many regards, especially with Crowley there to support him, but after six thousand years, many aspects have stayed the same or regressed back to the start over and over.

I will tell you a hard pill to swallow now: If you refuse to acknowledge your issues to instead live in a world of nicer denial and compartmentalization even when you have been offered the chance to change it, that is partly on YOU.

Is it fair? Fuck no! It's not fair at all, and I have had so many breakdowns over that fact. I did not break it, this is not my FAULT so why should I have to fix it all on my own? Why do I have to do the work, not them? How come they get away with it while I am going to have to carry this for the rest of my life?

I still have to do it though. I have to do the work, no matter how uncomfortable and exhausting, because I want to get better.

-

This conversation has so many facets and is a lot more complex, but this is already long enough, so if you have any questions or want to know something specific (while asking politely and in good faith) just send me an ask; I will do my best to answer it.

-

We are now only missing the last part of question 2, and that one is also so fucking complicated reducing it to the main points almost feels wrong, but I will do it anyway. Again, just ask if you have questions.

Abusive households are horrible, and you want to get out and away, but they are also the only thing you know. The world is scary, too big, too open, where did all the rules go that were previously defining your life?

Surviving in an abusive environment means you establish routine after routine after routine for every possible horrible scenario, you write a mental rule book to try and reduce the abuse (don't make them angry, don't cry when they're already shouting, don't do this, don't do that, do x but not y), and THAT is your socialization. THAT is everything you know, everything you are, everything you know relationships to be like.

Once you are away from that, you are completely and utterly lost. Even breathing feels like making a mistake, you feel watched, judged, rated, berated, you have them stuck in your fucking head. So you keep sticking to what you know, your behavioural patterns that have kept you safe your entire life.

The problem is that they kept you safe, past tense. In a healthy environment, all of those coping mechanisms are now maladaptive and harm you instead of keeping you safe.

However, breaking out of them and starting from scratch is terrifying. So, so, so terrifying. I live in constant fear, I feel judged and unsafe in my own flat with the curtains shut and the lights on. I feel like I am about to get subjected to another one of his fits for daring to use the stove.

No matter what you do, your body and brain are SCREAMING at you that diverging from what you know will kill you—and then you have to do it anyway.

Do it alone and afraid and awkwardly but DO IT. Otherwise you will always find a way to recreate the environment you grew up in, whether that is people getting into unhealthy relationships and replicating the patterns they know (which Aziraphale does with Crowley, e.g. the push-pull of his affection) or eventually even returning to it because they ruined you, but a part of you is so, so attached to them you just have to try and change them.

Some people can move on from it without going back, but sometimes you need to try and experience that failure for yourself before being able to move on, and that's where Aziraphale is at.

He needs to try and fail to be capable of finally committing to recovering.

So, to summarize this entire shitshow: Yes, Aziraphale experienced emotional neglect and abuse, and while it is different to what Crowley went through and objectively less intense and physical, it is still just as valid and horrid.

Just because a car accident is objectively worse than falling off a bike doesn't mean the biker's pain is unimportant. Both can kill you, both can hurt you, and both deserve to get their injuries treated.

Questions?

[liquidluckandstuff]

Harry having an eating disorder. All from Dursley abuse

He feels extremely uncomfortable eating in front of other people and only takes a bite when he thinks other people aren't looking.

Hides food in his pockets even after being there for months because he is so used to not knowing when he is going to be fed next.

Binging every now and again because he feels safe enough to eat and doesn't know when that will happen again but ends up throwing it all up later because he feels so guilty about wasting food on himself.

He loves that Mrs. Weasley wants to feed him, but hates how much pressure she puts onto him to eat.

Harry finds quiet hidden places in the castle to sit on the floor and snack on something he took from the Great Hall just so he can feel comfortable. He particularly likes cupboards

Shall I add in some Voldemort stuff too?

Harry has visions of Voldemort when he is feeling too strong of an emotion, but Voldemort has visions of Harry when he is just too hungry.

Harry got better about his problem, but after the graveyard its worse than ever.

Voldemort doesn't understand why Harry would do something like this to himself until Harry is sitting in the great hall and is afraid to eat a sandwich. It's not even just that. The boy can't sit at a table and take a bite at the same time. His mind is rejecting the thought.

He watches Harry take small bites in corridors or hiding in his bed. He watches as Harry gets thinner and thinner and has to glamor himself to hide how bad it's become.

He watches as Harry faints in the hallways after a detention with Umbridge because blood loss + no food = bad times.

It makes it all to easy to kidnap Harry. A starving mind is not in the right spot to defend itself.

He doesn't even want to kill Harry anymore. Not with as weak as he has become. It becomes more of an experiment.

He provides Harry with food and space.

one time he offered Harry lunch and of course Harry refused for every reason. Until Voldemort made them both a plate, vanished the chairs, and then crawled under the table to eat in silence. Harry thought it was ridiculous until suddenly the plate of food didn't look so intimidating and he was able to take a few bites.

Voldemort sees him hiding food, and offers him a snack or two every time he sees him even if they only separated for an hour.

He doesn't comment on Harry's appearance, and hides every mirror so Harry doesn't have to agonize over the way he looks everyone is always so obsessed with how he looks (just like your father except your eyes ) (he's so thin! Harry why dont' you grab an extra plate) (have you seen that scar?)

Slowly, Harry starts feeling more secure and joins others at the dinner table, although he still loves sitting on the floor with Voldemort in their own private time

and yeah sure Harry finds it really really hard to betray the man who sits with him and makes him breakfast just the way he likes it because he'd never had an option to try things like that before it's always just been decided for him

and then Harry's studies become better because now he can eat and has to make someone proud.

I can do this all fucking day

[sitkowski]

other poison devils ( jolly karlsson x ryan sitkowski )

kinksgiving day 2: knife play

pairing: jolly karlsson x ryan sitkowski cw: 18+ MDNI ⚠️ kink negotiations, knife play, minor bloodletting (scratching, small cuts), slapping, choking, finger sucking, restraints, mirror sex, protected anal sex, dom ryan, sub jolly. word count: 4.8k author's note: i got obsessed with this one. tagging the miw and bomens homies, please ignore this if it's not your cup of tea, i won't be sad about it. i'd rather have my readers safe! title comes from "pet" by a perfect circle. divider by @saradika-graphics 🗡️

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups || read on ao3 (coming soon)

Jolly’s responsible for keeping the knives. It’s part of their agreement. Anything he wants Ryan to use on him, he has to provide it, Ryan had explained it to him like prepping for a tour. You wanted to bring along the guitars you were comfortable with. Jolly wouldn’t play with Nicholas’ bass, he’d want his own guitars. So, he has to pick out his own knives. He had to care for them, clean them. Jolly knows what his own blood tastes like, Ryan’s made him lick it off the blade more than once. But he’s always liked it, paper cuts would make him hard so why not let someone cut him up a little for fun and get off on it?

The whole thing came about in the dumbest way possible, at least in Jolly’s opinion. Because festival season meant tossing a bunch of bands together and hoping for the best, and Folio and Vinny spent a good amount of time getting stoned together, and probably fucking around in other ways, so when Ryan came looking for his missing drummer, he found Jolly instead. And Jolly, well, he had eyes. Ryan looked as if he could throw him around, get him out of his head a bit. Their bands ended up mingling at after show hangouts. More often than not, he found himself in Ryan’s space, listening to him talk about the most random shit like it was gospel. And when Jolly cut his finger open on a beer can while they were waiting around for the bus call, he saw the way Ryan looked at him when he licked the blood from his own hand, eyes hot on him as he watched while Jolly dragged his tongue over the space between his thumb and forefinger to catch a drop before it fell.

Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. It got the cat in a lot of trouble though.

The switch from guitar talk to kink negotiations should have been jarring, but it wasn’t. They met up on the East Coast at Ryan’s house instead of a hotel. Explained to each other what they wanted. And Jolly’s bright idea to test the waters and push Ryan’s buttons within an hour of being there got him slapped and put on his knees in Ryan’s living room with an ease that probably should have scared him instead of comforting him the way it did. Ryan had big hands and those slaps were no joke. He had to explain the bruise on his face to Noah when he got back that night. He didn’t even bother lying.

It takes a lot of trust to let someone cut you up with a knife. Bloodletting is an intimate and dangerous act, and Jolly didn’t trust enough to ask for that at first. Not Ryan, or himself. But eventually, he held out a knife to Ryan and asked for what he wanted. He expected a lot of things from that one question, the first to be rejection, a lecture on the risks that came with putting a blade to Jolly’s flesh and expecting him to bleed for Ryan. They’d yet to find a limit with each other in the few times they’d done this, but Jolly figured there had to be one.

Ryan didn’t say no.

Months later, it’s still working for them. They make time to meet up when they can. This time, Ryan is coming to him. Jolly’s got his arrival information on his phone as he’s putting a set of older sheets on his bed. The last thing he wants to do is ruin any of his good ones. These can just be thrown in the trash when they’re done with them. It was one of the things Ryan told him; Jolly should always have older stuff he was willing to let him ruin during their time together. The first time they ever used knives, Ryan had cut the shirt right off of him, not caring that it was one of Jolly’s newer ones.

Ryan won’t let him pick him up from the airport. He shows up with a duffel bag and jetlag eyes, and it's only after he’s taken a post flight shower that Jolly finds out he literally hopped a flight as soon as the last show of Motionless’ tour was done. It’s oddly endearing, for them at least. There’s also a little bit of satisfaction in the fact that he can bully Ryan into taking a nap while he cooks them something to eat. It makes him feel a little useful.

“So you always like to play with knives,” Ryan says when he finally emerges from Jolly’s room, looking less like a walking corpse. He’d still had eyeliner from the show smudged under his eyes when he got there. “Not just for kinky shit.”

“Not just for kinky shit.” Jolly assures him, and passes him a plate.

Ryan stares at it like he’s never seen food before. “Did you make me grilled cheese?”

“Gotta have you well fed while you’re here. It’s all for selfish reasons, I promise you.”

“You act like me cutting you up depends on whether or not you take care of me while I’m here.”

Jolly does not tell Ryan to shut the fuck up, but it’s very close. And judging by the smirk he gets before Ryan starts to dig into his food, he knows it too. But he doesn’t call him out on it, even if Jolly could possibly pay for it later. Instead, he gets distracted with tour talk and then Ricky calls to make sure Ryan’s not dead in a ditch somewhere because he never checked in when his plane landed.

If he notices that Jolly had gone into his room and changed into one of his older t-shirts, well worn and soft and going thin in some spots, he doesn’t say anything right away. He doesn’t want to be too obvious, Ryan hasn’t even been here a full day. But they both know what he came for.

“I didn’t see your case in your room. Do you hide it?” Ryan asks finally.

He’s leaning beside him at the counter while he loads the dishwasher after they’ve eaten. Of course he brings it up like this, saying it so casually that Jolly nearly drops the plate he’s putting it away. He knows Ryan’s doing this on purpose. He wants to rattle him, and it’s obvious they’re about to settle into something here.

“I don’t exactly keep it on the coffee table with my magazines.”

Ryan crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head towards the hallway. Jolly knows that look. “Why don’t you go get it?”

He poses it as a question, but Jolly knows that it isn’t. He turns and goes down the hall into his bedroom, opening the bottom drawer of his desk and retrieving the case that holds his knives. There were safe edge play ones in there, as well as his sharps. They only get used with Ryan now, which probably says something that Jolly isn’t really willing to dwell on. He takes it back out into the living room, where Ryan is now waiting for him. The idea of doing this out in the living room makes Jolly’s skin prickle hotly, not because of the location itself. But because of the wall of floor to ceiling mirrors that he never got around to taking down when he moved in. 

The sofa and Ryan are currently in that reflection, and Jolly has to fight the urge to look at it when he comes over. He holds the case out to him, and when Ryan takes it from him, Jolly finally realizes something. Ryan’s nails match the handle of the knife. The knife. The one that Ryan gave him, the one with his name engraved into the blade. It’s one of the ones that will only cut if used hard enough, and Ryan’s very skilled at that. He knows it’s Jolly’s favorite, both for sentimental value and play.

“Why are you still standing?” Ryan asks, looking at the case and not him. “Where should you be right now?”

“So you’re asking me to get on my knees?”

This makes Ryan look up, and he smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “You opting out? You know what you gotta say if you are.”

That’s the thing, Jolly does know. One little word and they do something else. Ryan being here doesn’t solely rest on what’s in that case. If anything, that’s just him giving Jolly what he wants.

“I’m not. I’m just…being specific.”

“Specifically? Get on your fucking knees, Joakim.”

He doesn’t do it right away, only because he likes to push. Instead he takes his time, moving the coffee table out of his way so that he can be closer to where Ryan is sitting. He sinks down on his knees in front of him, putting them at eye level. He’s got to make eye contact with people on a regular basis, but somehow staring at Ryan’s face, at that mean little smirk he gets because he knows that Jolly is weak for him, it makes his face heat up.

He gets a front row seat to Ryan opening the case. Jolly’s long since lost his ability to flinch when a knife passes before his eyes, and he watches as Ryan puts it down beside him before pulling out a second one. This one is smaller, sharper. He rarely uses it on Jolly, it’s more for cutting clothes. He holds it up now for Jolly to see.

“I’m only going to give you as much as I think you deserve. But we’re gonna go everything first, you got it?”

He can’t even push at Ryan for this, because they always have to go over everything. For him, and for Ryan. It’s more than just safewords and rules, it’s step by step what is going to happen so no one gets hurt. Ryan may be the one wielding the knife, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt here. At this point, this part is easy for both of them.

“Go ahead,” Jolly urges.

“What’s your safeword?”

Jolly repeats the word he’s told Ryan over a dozen times by now. “Sunday.”

He almost answers the other questions he’ll be asked but he knows better than to rush this.

“And if you can’t talk?”

Scenarios of what they could do that involves Jolly not being able to speak race through his mind, not as if it would be the first time. Reaching out, he slaps his hand down on Ryan’s upper thigh twice. He knows that no matter what position they’re in, if he can’t talk, he’s supposed to hit Ryan twice. They haven’t had to use his signal or his safeword yet, but it’s always been extremely important to Ryan that they go over them every time. It makes Jolly think that something happened with someone else previously, but he never asks.

“Anything you don’t want this time around? Ryan asks.

It probably says something about him that he doesn’t have anything that’s a hard limit right now. He knows what Ryan likes and it all meshes well with his own interests. He likes to let Ryan lead, knows how to tell him if there’s something he doesn’t actually want. Right now, he shakes his head.

The slap isn’t as hard as it could have been, but Ryan’s got his rings on and he feels each and every one of them. His head jerks to the side, and then Ryan’s grabbing his face and pulling him back around so their eyes meet.

“You answer me with words.”

Jolly shifts on his knees. Not because he’s uncomfortable in this position, but because his cock swells just from one hit. “No, there isn’t anything I’m against tonight. Whatever you want.”

Ryan nods once, letting him go. He turns the knife over in his other hand, the sharp edge of it facing him, before reaching down and grasping the bottom of Jolly’s shirt. The blade parts the fabric easily and he pretends he almost feels the edge of it beneath his chin when Ryan reaches the collar, even though he’s staring straight ahead and Ryan wouldn’t risk something like that. He shrugs out of the ruined shirt, tossing it aside.

“Hands behind your back,” Ryan says, and Jolly does as he’s told, clasping one wrist. He knows this means he’ll be able to speak if he needs to for now, because Ryan would never prohibit him from having some form of being able to stop this for long. 

Ryan puts aside the knife and picks up a second one from the case. It’s still not his favorite, and Jolly thinks that he’s avoiding that one on purpose to draw this out. He has to swallow the disappointed noise he wants to make because they’ve barely just begun and he can’t afford to get impatient. This knife is just as sharp as the last, smaller with a curved blade. Jolly knows what every knife in that case is for, he knows them as well as he knows his guitars. But so does Ryan.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ryan taunts and Jolly realizes that he’s been staring at the knife that still sits in the case and not the one that Ryan is currently holding. “You haven’t been good enough for it. Your smart mouth proved that.”

He knows when to speak and he knows when to keep his mouth shut. Jolly lifts his chin a little, and watches Ryan’s eyes roam over his bare chest. It would take time for someone who’s never done this sort of thing to realize that he’s looking for scars from marks he’s left before. There aren’t many, Ryan might make Jolly bleed for him but he’s never cut him too deep. His eyes drift from Ryan’s face to the knife, how he holds it, the way his inked fingers look around the handle.

“Don’t move,” Ryan says and those two words make him instinctively wary and he fights to keep the tension out of his body. “Don’t move a fucking muscle.”

The blade is cold against the skin of his throat. It’s funny how feeling it there makes his mouth go dry and he has the worst urge in the world to swallow, but he isn’t supposed to move. This is just about him doing what he’s told, not about Ryan doing anything but holding the knife in place. He wants to turn his head and look in the mirror, but he can’t do that either. One wrong move to satisfy his curiosity, and the blade would slice him open in a way that neither of them want. That shouldn’t get him as hard as it does. He bites down on his tongue, fascinated with the look of concentration on Ryan’s face as he slowly drags the blade downward.

Ryan presses the blade in just below Jolly’s chest piece on the left side. It’s mere seconds, just enough to scratch the skin. Jolly feels a few droplets of blood well to the surface. He wants to look. His fingernails dig into his arm, which makes him twitch, just a little. Just enough that Ryan notices. He pulls the knife away and this time the slap is expected, and a little harder than the first one. Jolly moans weakly, looking back at him through his hair. He doesn’t apologize.

“Do I need to fucking tie you up to keep you still?” Ryan asks.

He wants to tell him no, that he can be good like he’s supposed to. But that’s not exactly true. “Use my shirt. Not like I can wear it again anyway.”

He sees the way Ryan’s jaw clenches, and he straightens himself back up as Ryan stands up, moving behind him to grab the ruined shirt. He crosses Jolly’s wrists for him, wraps the fabric around them and tugs. After a beat, he reaches beneath the shirt to get the hair tie off of Jolly’s right wrist. He pulls Jolly’s hair back off of his face, a tender gesture that makes Jolly close his eyes for a second.

“Move again before I’m ready to move you,” Ryan whispers in his ear, “and you won’t get to come the whole time I’m here.”

He knows that that isn’t a threat but a promise, and he nods. Ryan straightens, walking back around to stand in front of him. His eyes trail up his body, over the outline of his cock straining against the front of his pants. Jolly’s mouth waters, and Ryan rolls his eyes at him.

“Yeah right, you can’t even stay still for five minutes, what makes you think I’m gonna let you—”

“Please.”

The plea falls out of Jolly’s mouth quickly, and he can’t take it back. He’s never begged for anything before. Ryan stares down at him, and despite the impassive look on his face, Jolly can see it in his eyes that he’s intrigued by this. Instead of doing what Jolly was hoping he’d let him do, he puts two fingers to Jolly’s bottom lip. If this is what he’s getting, then he’ll take it. He opens his mouth far more obedient than he planned to, letting Ryan press those thick fingers against his tongue, pushing until Jolly tastes the metal of his rings.

He won’t do this for long, not if Jolly has no way to signal or safeword, but Ryan watches him avidly as he closes his lips around his fingers, letting Ryan push until he gags a little and spit drips down his chin. He does it once, then again, trying to press Jolly further each time. Jolly wants to grab onto Ryan’s thighs for balance, but he can’t. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t move once, not even when Ryan pulls his fingers out and wipes Jolly’s own saliva over his cheeks.

“Good to go?” he asks, checking in.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Jolly promises. His voice comes out strained, the edges of his mouth rubbed raw.

He doesn’t think about the fact that he has no idea how long he’s been on his knees, or that they’ve barely begun. Ryan could keep him here all day and barely do anything. But he watches as Ryan sits back down and picks up the curved knife again. He doesn’t even care if they use his favorite one now. His eyes stay on Ryan’s face as Ryan braces one hand on Jolly’s shoulder and brings the knife back to his chest.

This time, he stays still like a good boy. Breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth with each drag of the blade. Ryan does not cut him deep, he barely breaks the skin but Jolly can feel the itch of blood sliding down his chest in a few places. It wouldn’t be a lot if he looked down to see, but his face actually hurts a little more than the scratches on his chest, and he’s pretty sure another slap would bust his lip open.

“You with me, Joakim?” Ryan’s voice penetrates his thoughts, and Jolly blinks. He nods slowly, sees the corner of Ryan’s mouth tilt upward. “Try verbalizing that for me, sweetheart.”

“Can I have one a little deeper?” is what he says instead of telling him that he’s okay.

Ryan squints at him, trying to gauge if he’s in the right headspace for that. Jolly can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of serious scars Ryan’s given him. He’s got one on his bicep from the first time they ever used knives, and then one on his upper thigh. That one he pushed for.

“Tell you what.” Ryan starts and immediately Jolly knows that he’s not going to cut him. He won’t argue. “I’ll scratch you a bit with this one, but we’re not doing permanent stuff. Not today.”

Jolly tries not to feel disappointed, especially given the fact that there’s an opportunity for more while Ryan’s here. So he just nods his head, and watches as he puts down the knife with the curved blade and picks up Jolly’s favorite. The knife itself is acrylic, the blade a translucent aquamarine color. One side was a straight edge that could cut through if enough pressure was applied, the other a sawtooth spine that Ryan usually liked to use to scrape against Jolly’s skin. He knew this knife intimately. Ryan turns it over in his hand, thumb rubbing over where his name is etched into it.

“Afterwards?” Ryan turns the knife flat and presses it beneath Jolly’s chin, making him meet his gaze. “Afterwards, your ass is mine.”

Jolly knew there was a reason that Ryan wanted to do this out in the living room, once again thinking of the mirrors to his left. It wouldn't be the first time they’ve fucked in front of them, it's why Jolly hasn't thought about getting rid of them.

“So much for me putting old sheets on the bed.”

“Oh, I'm sure we're still gonna need those.” Ryan promises.

He lets the knife tease down Jolly’s neck, over his collarbone. The tip of the blade circles one of his nipples and Ryan hesitates like he expects Jolly to move. But he stays still, so Ryan rewards him by putting the side of the blade tighter to his skin and giving a quick drag. The cut is miniscule, he can barely feel it. It doesn’t even count, despite the sluggish feel of his blood welling up in the tiny divot of parted skin. Jolly is just shocked that Ryan did it when he said he wouldn't. 

“What can I say?” Ryan shrugs his shoulders and sets aside the knife to be cleaned afterwards. “You deserved it.”

Jolly surges forward and kisses him, even though Ryan didn't tell him that he could move. Immediately, there's a hand in his hair, but then Ryan is yanking the fabric off of Jolly’s wrists. He sinks his teeth hard into Jolly’s lower lip, giving them both a taste of his blood while Jolly paws at Ryan’s stomach, trying to get his shirt off. He manages to get it up beneath his arms and then Ryan takes over, tugging it over his head and throwing it aside.

He presses his hand to Jolly’s chest, dragging his hand down over the scratches and through the half tacky blood. Jolly hisses against his mouth, yanking back. There’s a smear of red on Ryan’s lower lip, just enough to be noticeable, and a few spots of blood on his hand. Jolly’s stomach twists pleasantly and he shuffles back on his knees.

“You were talking some big talk a few minutes ago, Ryan. Still planning to follow through with that?”

He can’t help but push and he sees the way Ryan narrows his eyes at him as if he’s going to regret the words. Jolly hasn’t regretted a thing about this yet, no matter what Ryan does to him. Still, he starts to back away when he sees that look in his eyes, if only to make Ryan chase him. But he doesn’t get far, Ryan’s hand shooting out to grab him by the jaw, yanking him in until they’re nose to nose again.

“Clean this mess up, I’ll be right back.”

By mess, Jolly knows he means to move the knives out of the way. He gathers them carefully, taking them into the kitchen and putting them on the table. Ryan is back in the living room when he comes back, standing by the sofa. The second Jolly is close enough, he hooks his hand over the waistband of Jolly’s sweats and tugs him forward, giving him a little shove. He’s trying to put him off balance, but Jolly goes willingly, tumbling onto the couch. He grits his teeth when his chest brushes the arm of the sofa, but when he raises his eyes to the mirror, he finds Ryan giving in a predatory look in the reflection.

“You stayin’ like that?” he asks, palming himself through his pants. He drops a bottle of lube and condom package by Jolly’s knee where it’s pressed into the sofa cushion.

Jolly nods rapidly but knows he’s still supposed to give verbal responses. “Yeah, Ryan. Come on.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Ryan grabs Jolly’s pants and yanks them down, before shedding his own and kneeling up behind him. He keeps one foot planted on the floor, one hand sliding up Jolly’s back, pressing him down firmly. Taking a shuddering breath, Jolly’s fingers dig into the sofa.

He closes his eyes, listens as Ryan tears open the condom package. He hears the click of the lube cap, and then Ryan hums. “You want me to prep you?”

Jolly thinks about it, but it’s also a thing for him, letting Ryan push into him without fingering him first. He likes the pressure, the way that Ryan holds him down as he shoves his cock in. Looking up, he meets his eyes in the mirror again.

“Okay then,” Ryan says, accepting the silence as an answer for the first time all day. The hand on Jolly’s back slides down, and he keeps his eyes on him. “Hold still.”

He’s careful, pushing into Jolly so slowly he can’t seem to get his breathing under control but he knows that Ryan isn’t going to go faster and if he tries to rush him this will be over. No matter what it hurts but not in a way that he wants to stop. He wishes he could see, watch him go inside inch by inch, but he also likes it like this. Ryan’s weight pressing him down, as he blankets him with his body and doesn’t stop until his hips are flush to Jolly’s ass.

Ryan grits out a curse, and he pushes his forehead between Jolly’s shoulderblades for a second. He knows it’s overwhelming for him too, and he gives him all the time he needs until they both feel like they’ve adjusted. Reaching back, Jolly grabs onto his thigh. He doesn’t give him the signal but he encourages him to move because if he doesn’t he’s going to lose his mind.

Finally, Ryan pulls almost all the way out and then snaps his hips forward. Jolly groans into his arm, his nails biting hard into Ryan’s leg. At first, his movements are measured and controlled, but Jolly knows it’s only a matter of time, and he’s right. Before long he’s moving faster, each thrust dragging Jolly’s marked up chest against the fabric of the sofa. It doesn’t feel that great, and he gives Ryan’s leg one tap.

Message received, Ryan wraps one hand around Jolly’s throat, pulling him up and back. After that, all bets are off. He clamps his other hand onto Jolly’s shoulder and rails into him hard enough to knock all breath from his lungs. He bites down on his lip, tasting blood again, muffled whines escaping him loudly despite it. When he looks up at their reflection, he sees that Ryan is torn between watching them, and watching his cock go into him.

“If you’re gonna get off, you better be doing it yourself,” he grits out, and his fingers tighten a fraction.

Jolly feels the pinch of metal into his skin, and realizes he’s leaving it all up to Ryan to keep him upright as he lets go of the sofa and reaches for his cock. The first stroke has him choking more than Ryan’s fingers do, and he gives up trying to watch them, squeezing his eyes closed as it becomes his mission in life to come before Ryan does.

Ryan pulls him back onto his cock ruthlessly, and Jolly gives him another tap that makes him loosen his grip on his throat. Black spots blur his vision, just a little, and he sucks in air only to start begging for Ryan to hurry up, go faster, give it to him harder. Which is crazy, because if Ryan goes any harder, he’s going to hurt him and they both know it. Over the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears, he hears Ryan telling him to be patient, and he laughs.

It’s a miracle that he comes first, and Ryan isn’t that far behind him. He keeps Jolly from landing in his own come, instead pulling out of him slowly and then collapsing back onto the sofa with Jolly leaning into his chest. They’re both trying to catch their breath, slick with sweat and somehow, Ryan’s elbow was on the bottle of lube, miraculously getting it out of the way before it busted.

The scratches on Jolly’s chest sting. The one little cut is actually burning, and he knows that he’ll need to clean it. But he basks in the moment, knowing that Ryan is going to take care of him after like he always does.

⇉ taglist

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@ao3userfeistycadavers

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